


The Walls of Winterfell

by moonkittie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 51,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7302448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonkittie/pseuds/moonkittie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa and Jon must become re-accustomed to their life at their ancestral home. It is the bond of surviving against all odds, the blossoming of a new life in Sansa, and the words of the dead that bring Jon and Sansa together. With all the loss and grief between them, it's no surprise they lean on each other for comfort. And eventually, rely on each other for the future of their house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For a brief moment every morning, Sansa felt like the past years hadn't happened. She felt, opening her eyes looking at the familiar ceiling of her childhood, that nothing had changed. That down the hall her mother and father slept soundly, or sat around the hearth talking in low voices. That out the window Bran climbed on the gray rock walls. That below her, Jon, Rob, Arya, could be wrestling in the mud. That Rickon could be fast asleep, curled up next to her. He used to come to her room at night, sometimes, when he had bad dreams. He didn't talk much, but slept next to her like a doll, tiny and quiet.

But then, the inevitable. Everything would come crashing back.

She would grip the blankets around her first, and force her breath to steady. Wait for her pounding heart to calm itself. When it was really bad, those first few weeks back home, she would grip the dagger she slept next to. She would sit up, staring at the door across the room, daring any danger to come fourth and try her. She'd think of Jon, usually nearby, Ghost behind him. And the men posted out her door. Brienne, Podrick, and the other guards, all just behind the thin wooden barrier.

And the rotting bones of Ramsay buried outside the castle walls.

These reminders brought her comfort. Not in the way her family would, or the weight of Rickon beside her, or the crashing of swords and cries of her brother and sister just outside her window could have. That meant true safety.

The safety she had now was the temporary safety one had in war. It was the safety of living through another night, and fighting through another day.

It was the end of the first month back in Winterfell, following the Battle. It felt almost routine now, and their biggest headaches were still there, but a distance off. The army of the dead hadn't yet reached the wall. Kings Landing was occupied with their own dismay. She worried about the Lannister Army, in Riverrun, but Brienne seemed to think Jaime would give them peace for a while yet.

Sansa sat up, gathering herself. Outside the walls, the milky dawn spread over the ice, bringing with it what little warmth it could manage. She pulled her hair around her, smoothing it, twisting it nervously, thinking of the day to come. Willing herself into consciousness. Now, with Jon and Sir Davos working with the other houses of the north, assuring their allegiance, Sansa found herself with the responsibilities she had prepared to as a child. Along with her duties of being a lady of the house, in charge of the kitchens and staff, assuring her people were fed, healthy, warm, had fires burning; she also insisted on being present for any meetings with other houses. With Jon not being a true born Stark, it was important for her to be at the meetings, to remind any doubters that there was a Stark here, in Winterfell, in charge.

After the battle though, there was no doubt left in anyone's mind. Sansa was warden of the north.

She held her head in her hands, and was overcome with a wave of nausea. Standing quickly, she crossed the room to the basin on top of the dresser. She dipped her hands in the icy water and pressed it against her face. Suddenly, she felt herself wretch. She gripped the wood tight around the basin, emptying the contents of her stomach until there was none left.

She coughed, her eyes watering, and pressed a nearby rag against her cheeks. She tried to steady herself again, but felt lightheaded and weak. She fell back on the bed, sitting for a moment.

"M'lady, forgive me, do I need to call for the maester?" she heard Brienne call from the other side of the door. Sansa pinkened, embarrassed she'd been loud enough for anyone to hear.

"I'm fine, thank you. I'll be out in just a moment, for breakfast." she called back.

Sansa counted on her fingers. Due to the stress from her life the past years, the times she bled were vastly irregular and hardly predictable.

She realized it had been months, maybe longer. Before Ramsay? she puzzled. But the sick understanding was growing in her chest, along with the Bolton baby growing in her belly.

With a crack somewhere far behind her, she realized she was on the floor. Then the pain blossomed into her skull, and her vision went black.

When she woke up, she was in a different room, in a new bed. Maester Elryn hovered above her, clucking lightly.

"I figured a young lady with such delicate composure soon would be visiting me, seeing what you've been through."

Sansa much would have preferred to close her eyes, enjoy the gentleness of the Maester, embrace this opportunity to relax, perhaps sleep. But she forced herself to sit up.

"Don't touch me." she said, pointing to the corner of the room. He stepped back, surprised. Her eyes fluttered.

A hand reached for her wrist, and she felt another at the small of her back, catching her as she fell. She began wiggling, protesting, her eyes shut and brimming with tears.

"Sansa," a quiet voice urged her. Her blue eyes shot open, and Jon came into focus. She cried out, realizing where she was. She gasped for air, and Jon pressed down on her shoulders. His forehead met hers, and he carefully moved his hand to the back of her neck. He focused his gaze on her eyes, locking blue with brown.

"You're home." he said slowly. "We're home, and you're safe. You're home, in Winterfell, Sansa."

She nodded, grabbing for one of his hands, clutching it closer to her cheek. She gasped for air, as though she'd awoken from a terrible dream. In some ways, she had. Jon waited for her breath to steady, the the pulse beneath her skin to slow somewhat.

He nodded, urging the maester to return to his work.

"Did something happen?" Jon asked, as the maester inspected the back of her head for injury.

"It's nothing." she said softly. "I guess...I just felt suddenly weak."

"Exhaustion sickness." the maester said, matter of factually.

"Plenty of people go through worse and don't just tumble over like silly girls." Sansa said in a low tone.

"You sound like Arya." Jon said with a shy grin. "And it's nothing to be ashamed of. You should see how sick I get."

He had coaxed a smile from her as well.

After the maester bid her leave to return to her chambers and sleep, she followed Jon down the hall and into her room.

"Feeling any better, m'lady?" Brienne asked politely as they passed her. Sansa gave her a wan smile.

Jon held open her door for her. He whistled, quick and loud. From another room, there was a noise of nails on hardwood, and Ghost was beside him in seconds.

"Go on." he nodded, and Ghost plodded in first. He sniffed the air, and walked to the bed, sinking on the floor beside it. "He'll stay with you."

"Thanks." she said, earnestly. "Please, wake me if anyone calls."

"O'course."

Sansa walked in the room, closing the door behind her. Ghost whined, deep in his throat, and rested his head on his paws.

She stumbled into bed, and curled around a pillow, crying. She knew what was going to happen. She could feel it in her very bones. Ramsey's bones may be rotting outside her window, but deep in her belly they regrew. She was stuck with them, an inescapable doom.

She pressed the tears out of her eyes, urging herself to calm. Urging herself to sleep. After the tears kept coming, her body fell limp, as she accepted it all. She cried until she eventually fell into a restless slumber.

When she awoke again, she felt better. Like a deep disturbing calm.

She changed into her velvet dress, and combed her hair before knitting it back into an intricate braid. She gathered a shawl, and laced up her boots, before going out of the room and down the hall. Pushing out to the outer level, she cold wind made her eyes water. She tightened the shawl around her, and turned towards the main hall, down the stairs and into the courtyard.

She held her head high.

She pushed into the dining hall, and a nearby servant jumped up.

"Hungry, my lady?" he squeaked.

"I am, yes, please."

She sat down at the head of the table. She tried to calm her shaking hands by gripping the worn wood on either side of her.

The next moment, the door swung open, and a server with a tray of steaming rich smelling broth, and a stack of bread was set in front of her.

"Thank you." she said, nodding. "Can you have someone fetch me any letters I've received?"

"Aye." the man said, and was gone.

She gratefully filled her empty stomach with the soup.

"Ser Davos!" she said with a smile as he walked in from the end of the hall. Sansa had found herself quite fond of the man for everything, and he reminded her a lot of her father.

"M'lady." he said. "You already look better."

"Getting there." she said, and indicated he take a seat beside her.

"Your hands, then, speak louder than your words." he said, indicating the fingers against her knees that shook terribly. She gathered them together, and made a fist.

"It'll go away, soon, my dear." he said. "Everything heals with time."

"Sometimes it's elongated." she whispered, her voice catching in a small sob. She reached for his hands, letting her face fall. After a long pause, she unintentionally moved a hand towards her stomach, and realization hit Sir Davos' face.

"Your brother is taking apart a storage room near the crypt." he said.

She nodded, wiping her eyes and then reaching for the rest of her meal.

"He'll know what to do." she sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa pushed open the door quietly, and slid inside the room. She leaned against the wall, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness of only a few torches. Near the front of the room, there was a few barrels of grain, some burst open and spilling onto the stone floor. There were shelves against the back wall, also covered in food storage. One of the shelves was moved aside, and the brick wall seemingly pushed in, revealing a door. In the room the door led too, Jon glanced up, and waved her in.

She sat on an empty crate, watching Jon shuffle through a leather pouch of letters. The smaller, hidden room was lined with crates and bookshelves.

"What is this place?" she asked. She always thought there was only grain storage down here.

"Father kept records down here." he said. "Hardly anyone knew of it, thankfully, so it was missed when the Bolton's sacked the place. Rob mentioned it once."

"Are you looking for something?"

He shrugged. "Something that wouldn't be here. But it's worth looking for. And it gives me peace to look, I guess."

She watched him as he worked for a moment. Jon was so calm most of the time, a trait Sansa found herself attracted to. After the pure chaos of her existence, from the constant torment of Joffery, the death of her father, the death of Joffery and being on the run, the scheming of Littlefinger and then the terror of Ramsay. But now Jon, reserved and quietly fierce, a pillar of strength in a crumbling world. She felt as though the gods had finally sent her a blessing, and given her exactly what she needed.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked after a long moment.

"I'm not sure." she said softly.

He set down the letters, and crossed the room. He knelt beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"It's not exhaustion sickness." she said. "And Ramsay hasn't left me without a final parting gift."

He blinked, and then his mouth opened in abject horror.

"Sansa-" he began, but she shook her head.

"He's still here. I thought we won but...we haven't. He's still here."

"No." he said, his voice rough. "No, Ramsay is dead, Sansa. What left of him is in the cold hard ground and we are here, in our home."

"The child will be a Bolton, Jon." she said through clenched teeth. "Unless you are legitimized, the name Bolton will live in Winterfell long after us." she said.

"Sansa." he said. "It would be a Stark, and a Stark alone. Nobody would question it."

"Of course they would." she hissed. "Maybe not the people of the north, but legally..." she trailed off. "I have to kill it, Jon. I can't have it. I can't."

"You know as well as I you'd be putting your life at risk, if you tried anything." he said. She bit down on her bottom lip, willing the tears gathered in her eyes not to fall.

"I don't know what else to do." she said.

"We could..." he trailed off, thinking. "We could write to the northern houses, for someone's son. Wed you quick enough-"

"No more strangers." she said. "Not for a long time."

"Alright." he sighed. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this torment."

She closed her eyes, pressing her gloved fingers against them. They sat in silence. Jon looked at her, at her undone red hair falling in waves. At the way her eyes seemed so young and old, all at once. She had grown into a breathtaking beauty, nobody could deny that.

"Could I legitimize you?" she asked. "As the Head of my house, could I?"

"I don't know." he admitted. "I think if there's a chance Bran is alive, but...I don't know how powerful you are."

She gave him a look.

"You are about the only person I trust, Jon." she said. "We can ask the maester, but if I'm remembering correctly, only a king or the father...if you were legitimate you could legally change the child's name to Stark."

"The father. Our father." he said, and stood. He gathered some papers and brought them to her. She looked down at the handwriting of Ned Stark, ran her fingers over it. "We could find a legitimizing order, down here, Sansa."

"We don't know if that exists." she said, in a questioning tone.

"We look to see if it does. If it doesn't, your script is close enough to his..."

She nodded, putting the pieces together.

"And you know he'd do it, Father would, in these circumstances." she said, and smiled. "It's brilliant. Come on, let's look."

For the next few hours, they tore the room apart. They read every dull correspondence about security patrols, ale shipments, bickering houses. They found pieces of journals, with dates, Ned writing down a memorable interaction or milestone with his children. They laughed to the brink of tears about one noteable disaster in which Arya had set free the goats by accident, not closing the pen in the midst of play. They'd chased the 40 odd flock of goats around the courtyard for an hour, hoping they could catch them before Ned found out. He did, and he walked out of his room to see all of his children running like chickens in the muddy courtyard, following the goats in gleeful desperation.

Even though they had the moment of laughter, the hours passed and nothing was found. Sansa sat in a corner, and was just about to put ink on parchment, when something caught her eye.

Near the base of the floor, in the stones lining the wall, she caught a shadow of something. She moved quickly, crossing the room, falling on her hands and knees. Just barely, she saw the outline of their house sigil.

She crept closer, leaning down to inspect it.

"Bring your knife!" she called, and in a moment she felt Jon beside her.

"Do you see that?" she asked, indicating the small sigil.

"Aye." he said, and stuck his knife between the rock and the cement. After a few moments of careful work, he'd loosened the rock enough to pull it out.

He stuck his hand in the hole, feeling for anything. After a moment, he pulled out a glass box. He opened it, carefully, setting the delicate lid on the floor. Inside was a letter, folded neatly, with "Ned" on the front.

"Looks like your script, too." he noted, and Sansa leaned over, trying to get a better look.

He opened it, and began to read aloud:

"Ned,

You must swear to me and all the gods to protect my son if everything falls apart. No matter what happens, it can not be known to anyone who he is. You know as well as I do Robert's appetite for vengeance is stronger than any other. So protect him, keep him safe, do what you have to.

Do that, for me, if nothing else.

Lyanna"

Sansa's eyes were wide as he finished.

"Aunt Lyanna had a son? At the end of Robert's rebellion, that must have been-"

She met eyes with his.

"The end of the rebellion. That's when father brought you home." she whispered.

Jon felt a crushing blow of complete loneliness. Now, not even was he a bastard of who he thought was his father, but a bastard of a complete stranger. Disconnected from all his siblings, now. A double bastard. A Stark and Targaryen bastard.

"Well." he said gruffly. "That doesn't help us any."

"Oh, Jon." Sansa said, realizing the look on his face. Now twice orphaned. She felt a stab of grief for him low in her chest. "We'll legitimize you."

"And what if anyone finds out, Sansa? That not only am I not even his son...but a nephew?" he asked. "Or if anyone living knows, aside from you and me. They'll know it would be a falsified document."

"Nobody knows." she said. "Just you and I. Please. Let me do this for you. For us."

There was a long pause. He swallowed, thinking how he much rather be Ned Stark's son than a Targaryen, a house he knew nothing about, had no pride for when he saw their banners fly.

As thought Sansa heard his thoughts, she leaned towards him, stroking his face.

"You are a Stark, Jon." she said as comfortingly as possible. "Either way, that is what matters."

He nodded.

"Come, help me make sure I can make it identical." she said. She stood, crossing to the desk and taking a seat.

She pulled out a stack of her father's letters, and examined the script with careful scrutiny.

Jon was behind her again, leaning over her shoulder.

Sansa startled as she realized how aware of him she felt. It was as though something clicked together in her brain, and changed her senses. She could feel how close he was to her arm, hear his breathing, calmly waiting. She looked at his hand on the table, strong and wide. Covered in bruises, and with a bandage around two of his fingers. She wondered for a moment, vaguely, how the roughness would feel on her bare skin.

She shook her head, looking down at the paper, brushing away the feelings as quickly as they came.

"It is quite similar to mine, isn't it?" she laughed, thinking of her father. Feeling a small connection to him. She tried to savor it for a moment. "Perhaps we should know how to phrase it?" she said, sounding concerned.

"I'll tell you what to write, I've looked it up before." he admitted. She didn't say anything, as he sounded a bit embarrassed.

He spoke slowly, watching her long fingers pen carefully what was nearly an exact replica of Ned's text. Anyone who knew him or corresponded with him, or even just saw the papers he had here...it was nearly foolproof.

"There." she said after a while, finishing the letter off with his signature. "Now this." she said, and stood, handing him the letter written from Lyanna.

"It might be dangerous to keep." he said.

"We could put it...back where we found it. It's very well hidden-" she tried to bargain with him.

"This room will be under complete scrutiny as soon as we tell anyone about that." he nodded towards the legitimizing letter. "We must burn it."

"And must never mention this again." she said in agreement. He nodded. He took the letter, looked at it for a long time. Longingly, maybe. Then he crossed the room, and tossed it into the flames.

"It's done with." he said.

"I think you should go reveal this to the maester." she said, folding the parchment neatly, following him to the hearth.

"And then we can christen your child Stark." he said. The word 'child' brought tears to her eyes again, and she felt the raw fear deep in her belly.

"Sansa," he said, reaching for her. "It'll be alright, you understand? I'll be here, and we'll be here together. I'll help you, every step of the way. You're not alone in this, not anymore."

"How can I keep him safe?" she asked. "How can I even look at him...at it." she spat, looking down at her own belly. "It's his poison in me, growing."

"It's not just him, Sansa." he said. "It's you, it's yours. You'll give him all the love and strength you already carry in your heart. You'll teach him to be brave, to survive. Like you've done. To be as stubborn and determined, and as...scary as you."

This won him a small smile.

"There. And now-" he motioned to her letter. "Now I can assure him he'll be just as Stark as us."

"Thank you." she said, and leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek. She stuffed the letter into his hands, and watched him as he walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

What Jon had said impacted her. She felt different, and saw the baby she carried in a new light. A child who could be safe, and warm. Who would only hear stories of his brave uncles and grandparents. Who could grow to be brave himself. Who would never know the name Bolton, never know the tragedy and pain that name brought on House Stark.

As the days passed, she helped how she could, with the dinner preparations mostly, although she was a bit out of practice.

It was a week after Jon was named Jon Stark. Sansa was in the kitchens, helping here and there. After an hour, she sat with her hair pinned up, peeling potatoes into a barrel with Erma, a kitchen maid. She let herself laugh with her, a full belly laugh, and felt so right, so comfortable. She felt like a proper northern woman, her cheeks red from the heat of the ovens, her dress and apron covered in flour. She felt strong.

The evening went on in a sort of casual manner, as she let herself feel at home in the kitchens. An hour before dinner was to be served, a steward rushed into the kitchens.

"Lord Sn-Lord Stark, m'lady, needs you in the Hall."

She smiled, and slid off her stool. She rinsed her hands off in a cold bucket of water near the door, and dried them on her apron.

"Who's here?" she asked, noting the extra hands entering the courtyard.

"House Reed, m'lady." he said, and she nodded. She let her hair down, and then dusted herself off as well as she could manage.

She pushed in the double doors, and walked, head high, through the small crowd of people. At the end of the throne hall, Jon sat in one of the two thrones. She proudly ascended the steps and took a seat beside him. She felt his eyes on her for a moment, but didn't look to him. Instead, she watched a small dark haired woman with curls near the bottom of the steps. She wore green, the color of her house.

"M'lady." she curtsied, and then indicated Jon. "M'lord. I'm Jyana Reed. Wife of Howland Reed, who was very close with your father."

"I know the name." Sansa said, leaning forward. "We sent your house a raven, Lady Reed."

"You must forgive me for not arriving sooner. Our house, as you may know, has dilapidated. We have less than 30 men, and we're at mercy to whatever attacks come our way. Sparing so many men would have put our home at risk. With Howland ill, and my children gone..."

"Your children?" Jon asked. "You don't have them?"

"No." she said, tears in her eyes. "They left, to help...to help your brother. We haven't heard from them in many years."

"Bran?" Sansa whispered, and the woman nodded.

"And I apologize for not coming sooner. I left as soon as I heard you had the castle. I came here today to offer my full allegiance, and our castle if you need troops safeguarded in the south. All I can offer you is walls and shelter, but if I had more, I would."

"How ill is your husband?" Jon asked. Howland had fought beside at the Tower of Joy, Jon remembered. He was going to save Lyanna. If there was anyone who knew his true heritage, it would be him.

"He's been taken to bed for years now." she said softly. "And our house is doomed to die. But the castle is yours, when that time comes." she bowed her head.

Sansa stood, and descended the steps. She took Jyana's hand in her own, clasping it tight.

"Lady Jyana, I can't imagine the pain you're left with. I appreciate your allegiance, and we'll offer you some protection, on your journey home. Another 50 men, to help aide the castle, and some food stores."

Jyana's brown eyes filled with relieved tears. She squeezed Sansa's hand, nodding.

"My brother? Did you ever hear of him?" she asked, her voice lower. Jyana hiccuped.

"They only left a note, said they were going to help the three eyed raven." she said. "We don't know what it means, we looked for them for years m'lady, but I'm worried they perished beyond the wall."

Sansa looked behind her shoulder at Jon, and shook her head. His face didn't change, but she saw his fist tighten in frustration.

"Stay and rest, a few days, let us worry about the housekeeping efforts and food." Sansa offered her a kind smile. "I know it can be an exhaustive effort."

Sansa pinkened, and felt her own emotions now pressing at the back of her eyes.

"Thank you." she said. She turned to a steward. "Prepare a bedroom, and a hot meal for Lady Reed. Let her take her leave for a few days before you return to Greywater."

"Aye." he said.

"Thank you again, m'lady." Jyana said. "They'll write songs about you someday, my child, of your kindness, and your strength."

Sansa returned to her chair beside Jon, and leaned towards him.

"Was that alright?" she asked. He nodded. "Should we start a search party, for Bran?"

"Starting where?" he asked, and she heard a hint of anger in his tone. "We can't risk it. Even a small party...with what's out there...Bran is probably already dead." he said, low and flat.

This sentence slapped her as hard as if he'd done it with his own hand.

He stood, storming off.

She fell against the wood, numb.

Night had broken beyond the castle. Stars blossomed in the night sky, and the chill had crept up into the very bones of everyone in the castle. Sansa had retired to her chamber, embroidering next to the fire.

There was a knock at the wooden door, and she stood. She crossed the chamber, and carefully pulled it open.

Jon waited, looking fairly guilty.

"I'm sorry, about earlier."

"I know." she grinned, and stepped back, letting him in.

"I just get...so angry...when I can't do what I'm meant to. Protect my family." he said. She nodded, motioning for him to sit in the chair beside hers. "I almost abandoned the wall, when Robb was rebelling. I left and everything, and some friends smarter than I dragged me back. Didn't think Robb would be forced to execute me by the time I got there, I suppose."

"Your as loyal as that wolf of yours." she said, smiling. "I admire it, Jon."

"Do you think we should be worried about Howland? There's a chance he knows the truth."

"The man hardly knows his own name." Sansa said. "I doubt he will come to and recall you're the son of another Stark."

"You're a good person to talk sense." he said, leaning back.

"I've seen your anger, Jon." Sansa whispered. She leaned forward, resting her hand on his shoulder. She tried to ignore the hardness of the muscle there. "I know you can use it, to your benefit. I saw you nearly...nearly kill him. That anger I didn't know existed before recently, but it's that anger that will save us both."

He looked at her in the firelight, again, taken aback by her beauty. How her features nearly softened in the dim light.

He was struck suddenly by the thought of a different life. He felt, stupidly, for a moment, as though he was just a farmer beside his wife, somewhere in the north, a quiet, easy, normal life. Maybe that's all he wanted.

But that was not his life now.

He reached for Sansa's hand on his shoulder, and held it there.

"How are you feeling, now?" he asked.

"Quite well. Almost a little eager, actually." she touched her stomach. "I'm not sure if that eagerness is out of fear or something else...but it feels eager. You helped me see it differently." she looked down, looping an embroidery thread around her finger. She tightened it, squeezing the tip so it turned white. "I've been hoping to ask you about something." she said.

"Anything." he said.

"When you were younger...really young...how did you feel not knowing who your mother was?"

He sat in silence for a long moment. Sansa wondered if he was going to answer at all.

"When I thought of it...incredibly empty. Unbalanced. Lonely. It helped, having all you, of course."

Sansa nodded, and brushed away a tear that had fallen.

"Sansa...I'm fine now, I mean...I was a child-"

"I know." she said quickly. She stood, setting her embroidery aside, and crossed the room to the window. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. She watched her breath turn to fog against the windowpane. She pressed her hand against her belly. She wasn't sure she was ready for this, and again thought of the other option. But horror stories of the potion had scared her half to death as a child, and she couldn't put herself at risk in a time as delicate as these.

Jon stood, following her to the window.

"I don't want him to feel like that." she said. She pressed her hands again, into her middriff. "He doesn't deserve that. You didn't." she cried, and put her face in her hands.

He was struck by this sentiment. Sansa, while as strong and proud as her mother, didn't have the coldness Catelyn tended to. She was delicate, sometimes, and only showed it to him, he realized. Another secret they shared.

"He'll know." he said. "I'll be there, Sansa. As close to a father as he could possibly have. He won't have to know otherwise."

"He'll know we're brother and sister, Jon."

"Not for a long time. And we're not, anymore, you do remember? All he'll know is his mother and father. "

"You don't have to do that for me." she whispered.

"I do, because I said I will, and I love you, Sansa."

She reached for him, resting her head against his chest, relishing the feeling of his arms around her.

"Stay." she said. She buried her face into his neck, inhaling the smell of him, the smell of home. "Stay with me."


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't lovemaking either of them were after, not yet. Instead, contact. The feel of being close to someone.

She turned around, waiting. Jon considered this for a moment, torn between the concern of how they might be perceived, and the desire that was growing in his own belly. She felt his hands at her hips, feeling the thick fabric.

Then she felt him loosen the ties, and the dress slipped away from her in one quick movement.

Her back, belly, shoulders, breasts...all covered in scars. Different shapes, kinds. Burn marks. Slices, punctures. She felt tears welling in her eyes, feeling again as though he'd never left her. He'd always be a piece of her.

"Sansa..." Jon said in a low voice, looking at the scars in distress. He felt the anger building in his chest, and he tentatively reached for a wide mark near her lower back. Still pink, perhaps the freshest on her skin. He stroked it, trying to reassure her.

"I'm sorry." she said, turning towards him. "I don't mean to disappoint."

"You could hardly do a thing, ever, to disappoint me, Lady Stark." he said, smiling. "And, as you'll see..." he lifted the leather vest off his shoulders, and then slipped off the dark long sleeved tunic he had beneath. Matching her scars were his own, from the years on the wall, the battles he'd fought. Even still, she saw a shadow of bruises from the battle two months before.

And then his belly, covered in the 30 or so stab wounds by the men at the wall.

She brushed her hand over these, realizing if it weren't for the red woman, she would have been left completely alone. Another dead brother.

Well. Not brother.

Because no brother could make her feel as alive as she did right then.

"Come on." she said. "Under the covers. I'm freezing."

She pulled the blankets away, and crawled into the bed, letting herself sink into the softness. Jon followed, wrapping his arms around her, letting her settle on his chest. He could almost cry for how welcome her warmth and softness was. How there was never a time he felt closer to another person.

Sansa listened to the heavy thudding of his heart, and then looked up at him. His strong jaw, those lips...those lashes thick as lust and the deep brown eyes she could get lost in for hours. She rolled over, wanting him closer yet. She pulled him around her shoulders, laying on her side. He let his hand slowly travel down her arm, to her waist, to her thigh. She sighed, snuggling closer.

He bent slightly, pressing his lips against the back of her neck. She hummed.

Pulling her closer, she could feel his legs wrapped with her, her bum resting on the warmth beneath his drawers, feeling dangerously close.

"Sleep." he urged her, pulling himself up on an elbow, looking down at her face. "Sleep like you deserve, Queen of the north. I'll be here."

She smiled slightly, letting her eyes flutter close. For a moment, he was entranced with her face. How the red lashes brushed her cheeks they were so long, and how there was a small pattern of freckles on her cheeks he'd never been close enough to notice. He smoothed her hair, gently, and could feel as her muscled eased, the tension seeping out of them the closer she got to sleep.

He fell asleep quickly after, his face buried in her sweet smelling hair. They moved through the night, but never lost contact with eachother.

This ritual continued for the next week. Every night, Jon would come to her chamber, or her to his, and they would sleep. It was so innocent, but so needed.

They became inseparable in the day too, the Lord and Lady of the house, usually joined at the hip, unless there was something pressing. Sansa smiled easier now, and her worries, although great, were eased by his mere presence. They dined together, saw their various northern subjects together.

It was a week later, when a steward came for Sansa, when she was working beside the women in the kitchens.

"Petyr Baelish is here to see you, m'lady."

She felt all her muscles tense up.

"Did someone fetch Jon, yet?" she asked.

"Lord Baelish requested you alone."

She felt a bubble of distaste, but figured this would be better. Jon's anger might not help the delicate situation.

She untied her apron, hung it on a hook. She walked across the courtyard, and then had a thought. She whistled as she walked, long and high, waiting for a response. After a brief pause, she heard him. And then Ghost was at her hip, and she buried her hand in his thick fur.

"If I can't have Jon with me, I'd like at least someone on my side." she said to the direwolf, as if he could understand. He snorted in response, steam rushing from his nostrils. She grinned to herself, and opened the door to the throne room. Baelish was alone, waiting, standing in the center of the room.

"Lord Baelish." Sansa said coolly. She crossed the room, approaching him. He bowed, taking her hand and kissing it. She felt her stomach turn, but didn't make this apparent.

Ghost growled, deep in his belly. She turned, motioning for the beast to lay down.

"Handsome creature." he commented. "Loyal animals, they are, I'm sure."

"They are." she said. "He's killed for me. Killed for Jon. Would do it again in a heartbeat."

She said this lightly, trying to pretend it wasn't a threat.

"I came to you because I'm concerned about your well being. I feel so responsible for you, Sansa. I hope to find a link for our houses, sooner rather than later."

"I don't understand." she said. "You married me off. My husband is dead. Technically, I am still in grieving."

"A regretful circumstance, I'm sure you think so as well."

"That's putting it lightly." she hissed.

She turned to the dog, bending low. She whispered to it, and he stood, padding off.

Littlefinger made no mention of this, but was sure he knew what he was told to do.

"And so what do you suggest, once my grieving period is over?"

"A marriage between you and your cousin." he said.

"And would he come here, to Winterfell?" she asked.

"Your brother is Warden, Sansa. He was legitimized. The North could do-"

"Absolutely not." she said. "I am never leaving my home again."

"I was afraid you might say that." he sighed.

Sansa turned, and ascended the steps to the throne.

"Why?"

"Because I'm afraid...the counsel of house Arryn, they believe without a benefit to our house...we can't support you with troops."

Fear buckled her knees, and she was glad to be sitting.

"Sansa." he said, speaking quickly now. "Would you leave your house so vulnerable, turn your back on on your family? This is a chance for you to strengthen the north, to truly have a chance against Lannister forces when they inevitably come for you-"

"Enough." she said, loudly. The next moment, the hall doors burst open.

Jon tried to remain composed, but it was hard. Staring a man he considered a vile, disgusting excuse for a human.

"Littlefinger." he said, dropping any sort of politeness. He walked up to him, inches from his face. He opened his mouth, ready to unleash a

"Jon." Sansa said, and her voice brought him back to reality.

He clenched his jaw, and turned round, joining Sansa beside her.

"Littlefinger is threatening to pull his troop support unless I wed my cousin." she said, dangerously icy in tone. "Another match made for me by dear Uncle Baelish."

"Do you forget your sworn to house Stark, Baelish?"

"Not if I promise my allegiance to the Baratheons, in the coming war." he said.

"You threaten us?" Jon hissed.

"Not intentionally." Baelish said. "But all actions have consequences."

"We will find you a Northern house of high rank to wed the Lord of The Vale." Sansa said. "My home is here. I don't intend on leaving it. Nor do I intend to be a pawn in your game, Lord Baelish. I am no longer your bargaining chip."

She stood, feeling the anger rise inside of her.

"This is my house, these are my people. They stood for me before, they'll stand for me again. All of the northern houses, now, have sworn their allegiance to us once more, and they will join us in battle again. With, or without you."

She walked closer to him. "You say you will leave, but you won't. You can smell the change. And you always want to be on the winning side, Lord Baelish. Not to mention, Kings Landing will be the last of your concern when the whitewalkers come for us all. They hold no house allegiance, Lord Baelish." she stepped even closer now. "They can't be toyed with. They can't be bargained with. You can't auction off your niece to their king. They will just kill. Kill us all."

He swallowed.

"You're welcome to stay the night, but I urge you to return to the Vale first thing tomorrow. You'll be wanting to tell Sweet Robin of all the pretty women of the north he can wed."

He didn't say anything for a while. She didn't take her eyes off him, daring him to make another move.

"Forgive me, m'lady." he said. "I will write to the council, and tell them of the amiable bachelorettes."

"If I hear one whisper of an allegiance made with the Baratheon's, I will have you killed." she said. "I swear on the graves of my family. We might not win, if they come, but you, Lord Baelish, I will see you are destroyed. You will not cross me again. You sold me to a man who raped and tortured me, and in turn you lent your army to my house. We are even, and I owe you nothing."

He looked down at her feet, and then bowed.

"Leave my sight." she spat.

After a moment, he was gone. She turned, looking at Jon. He was leaning forward, his hands on his knees.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side, Lady Stark." he said, standing. "I don't think you needed me here after all."

"Maybe not." she said. "But I needed him to see we were united, and stronger than him."

"I'd rather see him killed slowly than allow him to walk away, but we must make allegiances sometimes with the most repulsive of people."

"Aye." she agreed.

He walked up to her, standing close. He pushed away a lock of hair from her eyes.

"He deserves to die for what he did to you, Sansa. Know that. Know that I would kill him the moment you asked, if it weren't for the house he's tied to."

"He will pay." she said. "Someday, we'll make him pay, Jon."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey everyone, thank you so much for the reading and subscribing, and all the wonderful comments! I really appreciate the feedback. This story (due to the fact the season is ending tonight) is probably eventually going to turn from an even timeline, to jumping to big events in the future. I'm kinda creating basically my ideal outcome for the story, even though it will probably be nothing close to it. But hey, it's my story. I'll have time stamps at the beginning of chapters to show I've jumped ahead (ie: 3 years later). Hope you'll still enjoy.

Sansa and Jon sat on her bed, across from one another. She felt silly, almost, talking to him like this. Like they were children again, staying up late telling ghost stories. And in a way, they were telling ghost stories.

He was telling her about the whitewalkers, about the battle of Hardhome.

"I don't mean to scare you, Sansa, but you need to know what we're up against." he said, looking up to see her terror stricken face. "I've already began preparations for it. It's being worked on. Fire bombs and the like."

She nodded, her hair falling around her face as she did. She brushed it away, annoyed.

"Here." he said. "Turn round, I'll braid it."

"You can braid hair?" she asked, incredulously.

"I've been riding horses longer than you've been walking, Sansa." he said, grinning. "It can't be that much different, and you keep getting bothered by it. Turn."

She adjusted, and spun around, leaning against him slightly. His brow furrowed as he went to work, folding her long thick hair into sections, touching her head with tenderness. He worked quickly, from the crown down, and was done in a moment. He stroked the single braid, and Sansa fell against his chest, sighing. He kissed her cheek.

"Thank you." she said.

"Of course. Anytime." he said.

"You're so gentle with me." she said. "I didn't know what that was like. That men could be gentle."

"I'll never be anything but, until you ask." he said. "You deserve gentleness. Nothing but peace, and calm, and gentleness. I'm sorry we don't have that."

"We will." she said. "Someday, Jon, we will live here in peace, together, with our family. Like we were meant to."

He slid his hand over her abdomen. It had grown into the smallest bump, but he could feel it now. It was there, and it felt like his. He wished, for a moment, that it truly was. Maybe after, if there was peace. Maybe they could...

She interrupted his thoughts by turning around and kissing him. She held her breath as she did, waiting for the flashbacks to begin, like they usually did. She would close her eyes and feel Ramsay on her lips, not Jon, and she'd scream and shake and Jon would hold her and tell her it was fine, and remind her repeatedly that he was gone, and she was safe.

But this time was different. She tasted his lips and tasted Jon, his breath smelled of ale and tea, his lips were softer than sin. She dug her hand into his curls, clutching onto his reality. Reminding herself again and again, it was Jon. Jon. Jon.

He fell back into the pillows, and she straddled him, never once taking her mouth off his. He made a deep groan of pleasure, at allowing himself to grab at her like he wanted to. He rolled her onto the bed, stroking her face with his hand carefully, kissing her slowly. Her nightgown was sheer, but he craved that contact again, now in a whole different context.

He lifted it up slowly, waiting for her to stop him, but she didn't, she only watched him, focusing on his face. He kissed around her breast, and down her ribs, carefully attending to each scar. And then, when his mouth found the softness between her legs, she jerked up with a scream, scrambling away from him.

She looked at him for a moment, blinking repeatedly, affirming it was him.

"I'm sorry." she whispered.

"Sansa." he said, reaching for her. "Don't be sorry. Are you alright?"

"I just want...want to be normal." she hissed in frustration, tugging on her braid.

He sat beside her, but waited for her to lean into him before he touched her further. When she did, he gathered her into his arms, and brushed away her tears.

"You are." he assured her. "Also, it's going to take time to heal."

"I am sorry, though." she said again. "You deserve someone who isn't broken."

"Sansa." he said, and turned to face her. "You are an incredibly smart woman. Don't spout such nonsense."

"Thank you." she said, dipping her head down. "I'm not sure what I'd do here without you, Jon."

"You would be fine." he said. "I have no doubt, you'd be just as capable with or without me."

She felt her chest swell with emotion, in the fact that someone genuinely believed in her. Cared for her.

"You'll be the queen and I'll just be your humble servant." he sighed, and kissed her shoulder with a smile.

"We will rule together." she said. "Together."

"Together, then." he said. "Are you ready to sleep now?"

"No." she whispered. "Tell me more stories."

"If you insist." he said with a grin.

The next day, a party went out to survey the lands, and talk with some of the nearby subjects. Sansa and Jon headed the party, with 15 men behind them. Davos at Jon's side, Brienne at Sansa's. The day was grey and blustery, but both the Starks felt right at home.

They rode at the edge of the forest, chatting amiably. They'd just left the keep of a smith a few paces behind, who told them he was in great health now that the Starks had returned to Winterfell. Mist fell in waves beside the forest, and Sansa could feel her hair frizzing up, something unladylike, she was sure. But at the moment, she didn't care. She was outside, free, breathing in the fresh winter air.

"There." Jon said, pointing to the road a way off. A carriage had just crested it.

"Just a traveler, Jon." Sansa said. "It's nobody of importance. No flags, no gilding."

His brow furrowed. He felt something shift in his gut.

He turned his horse in that direction. Instead of calling out for him, Sansa turned, following. His face had piqued her curiosity.

As they drew closer, the carriage stopped. Someone emerged, a small figure. And to both their surprise, began running, full tilt, in their direction. The brown hair looked familiar, Sansa realized. As did the face shape. Both her and Jon came to to the same conclusion nearly simultaneously.

"Arya." Jon whispered. He kicked off his horse, running forward. Sansa was struck with such shock it took her a moment to do the same.

Pure joy filled Sansa, a white hot flame of happiness lit inside her belly as she rode. Jon beside her had a much different feeling. He thought, as he rode, the last time he rode this desperately towards a sibling, it ended in tragedy.

But then she was there, and he dismounted, gathering her in his arms as she cried. Sansa was there too, then, on her knees in the mud with the pair of them. They were a mess of words and chaos for a moment, touching eachother's faces and holding eachother's hands, reminding them they were real. They were together. And they were alive.

The horses thudded up behind them, interrupting the moment.

"Arya!" Brienne said in surprise when she saw the girl, and the rest of the party realized what had happened.

"Where did you come from?" Sansa asked, holding Arya's face. "Where have you been, Arya?"

"Braavos." she hiccuped. "And I came through the Bay of Seals, about a week ago, took the river to Last Hearth, and the carriage here. You're here. You're both here." She looked up at Jon. "Aren't you abandoning your post, crow?" she asked, arching a brow. He smiled, wider and brighter than he had in a while.

"We have a lot to talk about, little one." he said.

"Come on." Sansa said, standing, helping her sister up. "You need a bath, and some food."

"Can I?" she nodded to Sansa's horse. "It's been a while, but I've missed it."

"Of course." Sansa said. "I'll ride with Jon."

"Good." Arya said, sniffling.

Sansa climbed up behind Jon, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Shall we race?" Arya called.

"Oh, now I see why you wanted her over here." Jon said with a grin. Arya shrieked with laughter, and kicked the horse off.

Then they were all running, running. Speeding towards the castle, together, in the freezing wind of winter. The horses kicking up mud onto their backs. Jon and Arya laughing and shouting at one another, Sansa squealing to slow down, pressing her face into Jon's back, but grinning all the while.

And for a moment, a precious wonderful moment, it was like nothing had ever changed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm not going to do too much changing of the story, even after last night's episode. Luckily, not too much happened to drastically change my story plans anyways. So stick around, if you'd like! And thank you for all your wonderful support and feedback!

They broke bread together, Jon at the head and Sansa and Arya at the bench to the right. After they filled their bellies, Arya laid down, curling up in Sansa's lap, letting Sansa play with her hair while they all talked.

Jon felt such a warmth now, to be reunited with another member of his family was a miracle, especially after the loss of Rickon. They had yet to broach serious topics, but instead all seemed content to trade memories of their childhood. It wasn't like they were avoiding it. More like they needed some happiness, as a break to all the terror.

"I don't want to go to sleep." Arya said as the fires burned low and the candles melted away. "I feel like this is all a dream, like I'll wake up tomorrow alone again."

"Come sleep with me." Sansa said, smiling. "And Jon's right next door."

"I'll sleep in the chair if you'd like." Jon added.

They walked together into the courtyard, where a light snow had began to fall. Arya and Sansa walked arm in arm, skipping and laughing, Jon at their heels.

"There are people asleep." Jon said, although his tone was light.

Sansa held her finger up to her lips, and hushed Arya, which sent Arya into another rush of giggles.

They settled into the room, Jon taking leave on the large chair near the fire, his feet up, Arya and Sansa braiding eachother's hair on the bed. Arya yawned, and crawled into the heavy blankets.

"I'm glad to be home." she whispered, and Sansa stroked her face.

"I did miss you. Terribly." Sansa said. "But that's no matter now. We're here."

Sansa looked over her shoulder, at Jon. He watched them, a smile underneath his hands. He leaned forward, with his face in his hand. He shook his head at her slightly, marveling at it all.

Curled up beside her sister, Arya fell asleep nearly instantly.

"You too." Jon said after a while. Sansa grinned ruefully, and snuck in beside Arya.

The night went on. Jon fell asleep, his head against the wide backed chair. The three of them slept soundly, even with the wind howling outside.

After a few hours, Arya awoke to the sound of something outside the door. Scratching, almost. She sat up, squinting through the dark. The door swung open after a minute, and Arya slowly reached for the sword beside her belly, her heart pounding.

For a moment, light illuminated the face of the figure that walked in.

"Rickon?" Arya whispered, recognizing the round eyes and soft features. Was she dreaming?

The light caught him again, as he inched forward slowly. She saw the blankblue eyes then, the baggy colorless skin, and the blood across his neck. She rolled off the bed, onto the floor, looking up at him. Then he moved very suddenly, right towards her. She jumped quickly to the left, and he subsequently crashed into the shelf behind her, causing a tremendous noise. Sansa woke up, and began to scream.

Arya dodged the walker again, and then scrambled onto the bed.

"What's wrong with him?" she demanded of Sansa. Sansa didn't seem to hear her, instead she kept her eyes locked on the re-animated form of her dead brother.

Jon started awake. He saw the stumbling figure, and unsheathed his sword with a slice of ringing metal. The walker turned, and Jon nearly dropped his sword.

"No..." he muttered. This was a nightmare. This wasn't real.

"Jon-" Sansa sobbed, as she watched the walker turn towards him, get closer, and Jon be lacked in terror. "Please-" she began, and he looked over at her, finally.

He closed his eyes, and swung. There was a crackle of bones as the walker exploded. Sansa screamed again, and Arya remained frozen in place, crouched in front of her sister looking at Jon. Sansa crumbled, and he moved towards her now, quickly. He pulled her into his arms, pushing her hair back from her face.

"That wasn't him." he said, forcefully. Reminding not only her, but also himself. "That wasn't him, understand me, Sansa?"

"Was he dead?" Arya asked slowly, her eyes blinking at him.

"Aye." Jon said, not taking his eyes off Sansa's face.

"Is Rickon?" Arya asked again. Jon looked up at her, to see her leaning against the backboard, looking down at the pile of bones.

"Oy!" Jon called suddenly, loudly, causing the Stark sisters to jump. "Guards! Here! Now!" He stood, and guided Sansa's limp body onto Arya's.

A moment later, a handful of guards raced in.

Arya saw a flash of anger in Jon's face she never saw as children, and she held her sister tighter.

"Would any of you like to explain how a white walker broke free from the crypt, and into my sister's room?" he screamed. The guards looked startled, and then down at the pile of bones with their mouths agape.

Jon continued to yell, and Arya looked down at her sister. Sansa's eyes were closed, but she moaned, slowly reaching for her belly.

"Sansa?" Arya said, shaking her. "Sansa, look at me."

Sansa's eyes squeezed closed, and then she cried out in pain. She curled, and rolled, and Arya saw the dark red blood staining the bottom of Sansa's dress.

"Jon." Arya cried, loud and firm. He turned around, and looked at them in surprise, almost remembering they were there. Arya motioned to the curled up figure of Sansa, and Jon went for her. He picked her up gently, calling her name.

"Go get the maester!" he demanded of his men a moment later.

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Sansa awoke in the morning, in another, clean bed. Arya beside her, looking very much like she fell asleep sitting upright. Jon in a chair beside the bed, looking at the floor, his fists clutched tightly.

"Jon." she said, calmly. She figured her intense calm was the result of whatever tea she'd been given by the maester. But she knew what happened. She could feel it. Or the lack of it, perhaps.

Jon's head snapped up, and he looked relieved.

"How ya feeling?" he asked, reaching for her. Smoothing her face with his hand, to which she relished for a moment before speaking.

"Different." she whispered. "But I'm fine." she said.

"Are you sure?" he asked, leaning forward.

"It might be the potion." she admitted with a small smile. "But in this moment, I'm fine. I am, Jon."

Jon leaned forward, and kissed her on the forehead, long and slow.

Arya awoke then, and looked at the pair of them in confusion.

"Oy." she said, groaning, rubbing her eyes. Jon and Sansa both jumped, and turned towards her. "You both need to tell me what the fuck is going on, here. Apparently there were some details left out tonight."

Jon and Sansa glanced at eachother, and then nodded.

"Sorry, Arya." Sansa said. "It didn't seem like the right time."

Arya nodded, and leaned forward waiting. Jon took a deep breath, and began.

"...after Robb's murder, I left with every intention..."


	7. Chapter 7

_1 month later_

Sansa felt much lighter these days. Almost relieved after her miscarriage, after not having to bring another family member into the world to suffer, or be in danger. She was upset for a few days, but slowly realized it was an unburdening. Now she could focus on her house, and the future thereof.

An idea had crept into her head. She hadn't spoke life to the idea yet, but it sat in the back of her mind. She'd finally grown the courage to mention it to Jon, and this is where she headed now. The courtyard was covered in a thick blanket of snow, and she wound around the tunnels carved into it by the groundskeeper.

Jon was in the study, usually discussing things with brother houses or the guardsmen. But she knew for a fact that today he was alone, and she was seizing the opportunity. Of course, she could well have mention the idea to him when they ended up in each other's room's at night, wrapped around one another.

She wanted this conversation to have an air of officialism. While it was a decision of the heart, it also had to be made for the house and future of the Starks. Without her heart, and her love, she wondered if this would even be a decision at all. She pushed away the idea as nonsense.

She knocked on the door lightly, and a page opened the door from within.

"Sansa!" Jon said brightly, with a small smile. Oh good, she thought, he was in a decent mood.

"Jon, my dear," she said with a motherly tone, for the sake of the page. "I was hoping to audience with you alone."

"Leave us, please." Jon motioned for the page to exit, and the next moment, they were alone.

Sansa sat across from the desk, waiting for him to shut the door behind him as well, in case anyone might wander in from the other direction.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I had an idea." she said, simply. He took his seat and waited. Sansa felt like a child again, reminded of the times she was brought here for a lecture from her father. They were occasional, and never harsh at all, but being in the seat took her back to that place, and those same nerves. Maybe she should have brought this up in another lighting, she thought.

"An idea to benefit the future of our house." she said. "To guarantee the Stark name has an heir."

"Have someone in mind for me, Sansa?" his tone light, but his brow slightly worried. Perhaps the love he'd given her, the care and attention and concern...perhaps it was more one sided than he thought.

"Yes." she said. "Me." she looked down.

"Oh?" he said, and felt a rush of relief. "I'll admit, I thought of it too, but I worry it'll be frowned upon, by our subjects."

"Most people of the north are more traditional than you and I." she said. "I think they'd understand, or even prefer it. We wouldn't have to deal with house competition, or other arguments. Say you are betrothed to so-and-so of House Glover...but there's a quarrel between them and House Umber and Umber also has a daughter, is this an insult to House Umber, might we lose their support? And then there is the case with me,"

She paused, but he didn't interrupt her or say anything.

"As a twice previously married woman with a broken maidenhood...I doubt many noble houses would be willing to marry their son to me. I am a used commodity."

"Sansa-" Jon started to scold her, but she held her hand up.

"But it's a smart match, you and I, because I know you know that doesn't matter. Not to you, at least, and I doubt to your idea of honor. And then, a child that is Stark...or perceived to be Stark, and just Stark, wouldn't be doubted by anyone. Couldn't..." she trailed off.

"And if Bran returns? Would we dissolve our marriage, out of respect for his...truer...blood line?"

"Bran...if he's still alive, which of course I hope he is, but if he's alive, he's been crippled Jon." she said. "The likelihood of him having children."

Jon nodded, realizing the reality of her statement. As usual, Sansa never ceased to surprise him. He felt guilty, then, for underestimating her. She was right on all accounts.

"And then there's the fact between you and me..." she said. "You, me, and Arya, the people it matters, we know we're not siblings. And we can be comforted by the fact that it's just us."

"It is a comfort." he sighed. "You're right. It's a good idea. I'll confer with the maester, and see if there's any stringent moral objections around us. But these are the people who swear to the old gods. And you're right. They respect the old ways."

She nodded, smiling.

"I can be with someone I can trust, to be loyal, someone I can trust to touch me." she reached for his hand, leaning over the desk. He entwined her fingers with hers. "Someone who doesn't mind me being a little broken."

"You were never broken, Sansa." he said softly. "No announcements. We'll only tell the members of households, and those who ask. Until you have a child, we don't announce it, so no one may challenge the validity of the marriage, or it's worthiness."

"A small ceremony, with not everyone staring at us. Without the whole world staring at us." Sansa said, a bit of excitement in her voice.

"My whole world will be staring at me, hopefully." he said, and she smiled, blushing.

"You're ridiculous." she said, but squeezed his hand tighter, a silent motion of thanks.

"When, then?" he asked.

"Whenever you like." she said softly. "I'm quite at my leisure."

"Soon." he said. "Tonight, if I can manage it."

"I'll wait for your call." she said, and stood, leaning down to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "I'll wait...eagerly." she said, lingering in front of his face, her mouth inches from his.

"I'll go now, in that case." he said, breathlessly, and leaned in to kiss her lips. But she ducked away, and stood.

"Later." she said, smiling coyly.

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The ceremony was small and quick, in the godswood, with only a few people around them. The maester acted as the officiator. The night was cold, and snow fell lightly.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Maester Elryn asked the crowd of 5 people.

"Sansa, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed." Arya said softly. "A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods."

"Who comes to claim her?" Elryn asked.

"Jon, of the House Stark, heir to Winterfell. Who gives her?" Jon said.

Arya stepped forward, and continued the vows. After a few prayers, and Jon cloaking Sansa, the deed was done.

"And let it be remembered, that the gods, in the past, have granted marriages to closer blood relations, in times as drastic as these. And this marriage be as blessed as any other." The maester added.

Sansa took Jon's arm as they walked back towards the castle.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Like I truly am home, now." he said to her, quietly, so nobody else might hear. "And that the future is ours, and ours alone."

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Sansa awoke to a different ceiling. They had taken the large bedroom, the pair of them. Jon slept soundly beside her, bare chested, his shirt discarded on the floor with all of her wedding clothes.

It finally happened the night before. She felt for the first time, despite the technicalities, that she'd truly been with someone. She felt as light as air as she woke up, her whole body actually warm for the first time in a long while. Jon had been luxuriously generous, and she squirmed as she recalled his mouth between her legs, his quick urgent whispers reassuring her the whole time. The feel of him inside her, the way his face looked nearly pained in pleasure as he felt her for the first time. How she felt that she could bring him pleasure, and how strong that made her feel. How he comforted her, told her he loved her, held her, all things she'd only yet experienced with him, and him alone. The truest connection she could hope for.

She laid there for a while, listening to the familiar sound of Jon sleeping beside her. His deep breathing, the occasional sigh.

His breathing changed, and she looked over, to see him sitting up, looking at her.

"Good morning." he said, and she smiled. "How are you feeling, Lady Stark?"

"Quite well." she said. "And how is my husband faring?"

"Terrible, I'm afraid." he said, leaning so he was more on top of her, his face close to hers. "Quite dreadful."

"Oh no." she feigned surprise. "Whatever could be the matter?"

He grinned wider. He bent, turning her head, kissing in the hollow beneath her ear, and then gently nibbling on her lobe. She hummed in encouragement, and he kissed under her jaw, at her throat, lower then, to her chest and the space between her breasts. He slowly ran a finger around her navel, and then dipped lower, listening to her mewling like a kitten in response. He stroked her for a minute, and then stopped, and was above her again.

"I'm devastated I have to leave you alone here, leave this warm bed and warmer woman."

"Surely just a little longer." she begged of him.

"We have every night until the day we die." he said.

"Nobody is to say how long that might be." she whispered.

"You make a compelling argument." he said, lowering his face even closer to hers.

"I'm sure it will exhaust you eventually." she said. "My arguing." she raised a brow.

He responded with a slow kiss, and she felt his hands heading to her thighs again.

"Not if I exhaust you first."


	8. Chapter 8

_3 weeks later_

Littlefinger tore open the letter from his source at Winterfell. He scanned it quickly, sitting alone in his study at the Eyrie. It took him 3 readings before the feeling sunk in completely. Loss. Rage. Betrayal.

He swore, standing, and began to throw things in a rage. Plucking books and pots of ink off the desk, he hurled them at the walls. He screamed in frustration.

He'd kill them. He'd kill them both when he was king.

When he left his study, he was composed and gathered. Behind him, a scene of chaos that contradicted his demeanor.

"M'lord?" a guard asked, raising a brow at the mess behind him.

"Have someone pack my things. I leave to Winterfell tonight. Urgent business, I must go at once." he said politely.

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Arya and Jon dueled in the courtyard, metal clanging as they dashed back and fourth.

"You're almost as good as me, little sister!" Jon cried out, as she blocked a particularly swift blow. He parried her suddenly, and got her caught between his blade and a wagon. She frowned, realizing he'd won. "Almost." he said.

"Someday." she hissed. "I am faster you though."

"Because your sword weighs nothing." he said. "If I had a stick like that I'd be quite fast too."

She scooped a pouch of water off a nearby barrel, and gulped it down.

Arya looked different than she had when she first arrived. Instead of her brown hair loose, she wore it in a simple braid. She wore tight riding pants, most of the time, as they were the warmest thing she could actually move in. Today, she wore an embroidered velvet shirt, patterns carefully sewn on by Sansa in golden grey thread atop black fabric, as well as a leather jacket lined with white fur.

She put the sword in the sheath at her hip, and cocked her hips to the side, looking at Jon.

"I quite like my sword." she said. "Not a fan of the cocky twat who gave it to me."

He laughed.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Is that even a question?" she replied, and again, he laughed.

"I hear they made fish stew."

"Oh like Nan used to make?" Arya asked.

"Think so."

"Mmmmmm, that sounds marvelous right now."

"Come on." he said, nodding towards the dining hall. She followed him through the snow, squinting against the glare of the sun on the layer of ice.

"Littlefinger is coming." A voice said behind them.

Sansa rushed, as well as she could, towards them by the dining hall. She ran slightly, holding out the letter in one hand.

"For what reason?" Jon demanded, taking the parchment from her hand. He read it carefully, his brow knotted in anger. "How did he find out? Did someone tell him?"

"Must have." she said.

"That slimy bastard." Arya hissed, reading the letter after taking it from Jon's hands.

"He says he wants to discuss another proposition of marriage." Sansa said, and the pair nodded. "Does that mean Arya, or our heir?"

"Either way, it's not happening." Jon said. "He doesn't end up with a Stark. Ever. I don't care what he thinks we owe him."

He turned, and pushed into the dining hall, the girls behind him.

"We could just kill him." Arya offered, and Sansa shot her a look.

"As much as I would enjoy that," Sansa offered "doing it would be a horribly stupid idea."

"She's right." Jon looked at Arya apologetically. "I'd like it too, trust me."

"Well, seeing he sold Sansa to a monster, I'm sure the north would understand, if not help kill him."

"The north isn't loyal to Littlefinger, no, but they're loyal to House Arryn. And it will be perceived as an attack on House Arryn, not Baelish." Sansa explained.

"It could be an accident." Arya shrugged.

"No, Arya." Sansa said, trying very hard to break her little sister of her murderous habits.

Arya looked at Jon with pleading eyes. He shook his head once. She sighed, stomping her foot. A teenage girl not getting her way.

"I need to talk to you, Jon." Sansa said quietly as Arya pushed in the door to the kitchens.

"Lady Stark!" A cook said, startled, jumping up from her seat chopping roots. "And...Lady and and Lord Stark. Please, let us get the table set-"

"It's fine, Monira." Arya assured her. "They don't mind eating in the kitchen, either."

Jon and Sansa looked at Arya, puzzled, as she took a seat.

"I just don't like being doted on." she said, in defense.

"We'll be right back." Jon said, and Arya opened her mouth to protest, but Jon gave her a look, and she smacked her mouth shut.

"Fine. I will be here, just eating my soup." she said. "Waiting patiently for mother and father to come tell me what to do."

Jon sighed, deciding to deal with Arya later.

"There's something I have to tell you." Sansa said, as soon as they were alone in the dining hall.

Jon eyed her warily. "What is it?" he asked.

"Before the houses came together and called allegiance to you, Littlefinger told me he was going to marry me." Sansa whispered. "When I was at the godswood, a couple days after the battle. Right after he asked me, all the houses came together, and he saw me. And saw the way I was looking up at you. And he knew I was going to pick you."

"What?" Jon asked, shocked. "Are you joking?"

"No, Jon, I'm not. Really." she said. "And I know I should have told you earlier, and we can argue about that later, but he was so angry, Jon. And I thought maybe I got through to him, when he came back later and offered Robin to me...but I guess this set him off."

"He wanted to marry you?"

"He said he wanted to sit on the iron throne, with me by his side."

"Well, I guess he offered more than me, then." Jon said, slightly cold. "I don't have an Iron Throne for you, I'm afraid."

"Jon. I'm not telling you this to see how jealous you'll get. I'm telling you because I'm worried what he could have up his sleeves, now."

"Don't worry, Sansa." Jon assured her. "I'll council with him, you don't even have to see him if you don't want to."

"No. No I want to see the look on his face when we walk up, hand in hand." she whispered, dangerously.

He leaned into her, kissing her lightly on the lips, and then pressing his forehead on hers.

"Never lose that fire, Lady Stark."

She grinned.

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Jon awoke to his own screaming thoughts, racing through his mind. He sat up slowly, trying not to wake Sansa beside him. He stepped out of bed, and went to the chair, sitting, staring at the fire with unseeing eyes.

There was something, Jon felt, different about Sansa lately. Since their marriage, she seemed just that much stronger. She spoke louder, and shouted when other men cut her off.`She insisted on being present for guard meetings now. Her spirit hadn't been repaired, but instead given a new life entirely.

They were both like that, Jon thought to himself. Stone cold on the outside, fearsome and confident. But when they were together, late at night, alone in their chamber, they could also both be as gentle and sensitive as The Mother herself.

Jon got flashes of their future, falling asleep sometimes. Of Sansa as a mother, warm and sweet, comforting her crying child. Kneeling down, brushing their hair and tears from their face. Scooping them up, pointing over the walls of Winterfell, at the distant land that would all be theirs. Sometimes she was whispering stories of their grandfather beside the fire, holding their half asleep toddler, or she and him walking hand in hand in the hallways, talking of dinner or something else just as meaningless.

It was a fairytale life that seemed just as hopeless as anything. But then again, he thought, he was hopeless of ever seeing her face again, just a year before. And now here he was, married to her, the King in the North.

He glanced at her sleeping figure behind him. Curled up, snoring softly.

It would be alright, he assured himself. She was getting better. They were the strongest they'd ever been.

It would be alright.


	9. Chapter 9

It was the morning after the first hard freeze of the Winter. The cold was so harsh and unforgiving, even Jon could hardly be tempted out of bed, and he was usually the first up. But it was Sansa that woke up first, when the late morning had broke well across their bed, spilling the sunlight as it went.

She rolled over, peeking over Jon, who snored softly, laying on his own bicep.

"Lord Stark..." she sang in a delicate voice. "It's time to get up, my love."

He groaned, and rolled, pressing his face into the pillow.

She ran her warm hand across his shoulders, down his spine, and up his waist and ribs. She paused to press her palm firmly against his belly, always marveling at the hard muscle there.

"Not the way to convince me to wake up." he sighed.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked as he rolled onto his back, looking up at her.

"I'm fine. Just slept so much, it was so cold, and so warm in here." he said, reaching for her waist.

She lowered down slowly, sliding next to him closer. When she was mere inches away from his nose, she smiled brightly, suddenly.

"What?" he asked.

"Just waking up beside you. Being the only one who gets to see you, first thing in the morning." she said. "The King in the North."

"No king without his queen, Lady Stark." he said. "And what of me? You don't think I'm happy being the one man who truly...truly gets to sleep beside the legendary beauty that is Sansa Stark."

"Legendary beauty?" she giggled. "Says who?"

"Says anybody who knows what's good for them." he said, half smiling. "Because anyone who says differently is treasonous against House Stark."

She laughed, and leaned down, kissing him. She marveled, always, at what soft lips he had, so delicate and luxuriously inviting and warm. And the dark curls just above and below, just as soft as silk, contrasted usually by his rough fingers playing somewhere on her skin.

"Up." she said, quite dangerously. He grinned, and leaned back, about to kiss her again.

There was a bang on the door, loud and sudden. They both jumped, and then Jon carefully but quickly moved Sansa to the side and stood, grabbing a fur to cover himself with. Sansa pulled the blankets to her chest.

"What?" Jon shouted hoarsely.

"M'lord, I'm sorry, but Lord Baelish is insisting you are awoken to audience with him."

Jon whipped the door open, and Sansa squealed at the sudden burst of freezing air.

"Would you send him my apologies..." Jon began, but Sansa interrupted him.

"Tell him Lord Stark was busy making heirs for his castle, with the Lady of the house." she called.

"Sansa." Jon shot her a look, but the page was already gone. He shut the door, and crossed the room. He opened his wardrobe to pull out some clothes, carefully choosing from the handsome shirts Sansa continually presented him.

"If that page knows what's good for himself and this castle..." Jon began. "He would ignore your order, m'lady."

"I'd rather he didn't." Sansa admitted. "I'd rather walk in to see Littlefinger pink with rage, meaning to challenge us and then getting so flustered he...I don't know...rolls over and dies or something."

Jon grinned.

"Are you going to get dressed?" he asked.

"I am." she sighed. She crossed the room to the trunk on the other side, walking with her arms crossed, shivering in the cold. She found a dark grey fur dress, with sleeves and a bowed neckline. She paired it with her handsome white leather cloak, with the heavy hood that contrasted so well with her fiery hair. That hair color she used to hide, that obviously so reminded Littlefinger of her mother. Now she let her waves loose, proudly flaunting it.

"Ready?" Jon asked as she finished lacing up her boots. She stood, and he looked at her with eyes aglow in wonder.

"No wonder he envisioned you with him on the Iron Throne." Jon whispered. "You look as though you belong there."

"We both do." she said, looking up and down his dark green Stark tunic, and heavy brown cloak, made of magnificent furs, something Ned had left behind when he went to the warmer south. His hair was pulled back, and Sansa felt weak all over again meeting his determined gaze.

She took his hand, and together they walked outside.

At the head of the throne room, Sansa and Jon looked down at Petyr with near exact expressions of dislike.

"Such...happy congratulations to the newlyweds, I should say." Petry was saying, in a dark tone. "And was it half of all children born from incest go mad? Isn't that what they say?"

"If you are here to insult us, Petyr..." Sansa warned, although she was also taken back by this blatant attack.

"I'm here to bargain with you, to assure your house remains...as strong as it deserves." Petyr said slowly.

"We're clearly quite ahead of that." Jon said, looking at Sansa. "So please, enlighten us."

"In exchange for 100,000 troops, house Arryn would request a suitable heir for Lord Robin Arryn."

"Arya isn't a bargaining piece, I'm afraid." Sansa hissed.

"Arya?" Littlefinger asked, his brows shooting up. "Your sister returned?"

Sansa looked at Jon in panic. She realized, this wasn't a known fact, but had only assumed since he knew of the wedding, he knew of Arya too. Now, she'd given something away.

"I know a few people who would pay an incredible price for Arya Stark-" Petyr began.

"Guards!" Jon shouted, and the doors burst open. Littlefinger was swarmed, and captured.

"Jon, wait-" Sansa began, but he held up his hand to her.

"Get him out of our sight. If any man comes in before me to threaten a Stark again, I'll have him hung." he demanded.

"Jon!" Sansa tried again, reaching for him. She knew as well as any, Littlefinger was a dangerous enemy to have. And if he wanted to harm Arya, now, he could. He had ways, secret ways.

The guards led Petyr out, and into the snow. The hall doors slammed shut.

"Jon." Sansa growled. "You know we needed him as an ally."

"No." he said firmly, his teeth clenched. "I will not standby and let some man dangle threats over our heads, forcing us to do his bidding."

"Arya could be in danger, Jon." Sansa cried. "He could gain forces in the South and come back, harder than before. Destroy us."

"He won't." he said softly. "He wouldn't do that, not to the woman he loves. After he destroys our home, kills me, takes Winterfell for himself, you would go with him willingly? He wants you, and he's going to keep fighting for you."

"You want me to use that? His feelings for me?" she asked. "Dangle myself? Because he wants to fuck me?"

"Sansa-" Jon started, realizing what he'd said. But she stood, storming from the room.  
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She hid herself away in the library, where Maester Elryn didn't mind her escaping to. There was one corner, near the hearth, where when she truly wanted to be alone, she would embroider or read or write letters.

She sat on a pillow, scribbling furiously onto a parchment. She wrote a long letter, one begging for forgiveness. Apologizing for Jon's behavior, for the claim he has on her, now. Offering every apology and promise she could. When she was finished, she read it over a few times.

She gathered the letter in her breast, and rushed from the small library.

"Have a good evening, m'lady." Maester Elryn said humbly to her as she rushed past him.

She rushed through the freezing courtyard, and into the far hall, and pushed into Jon's study without knocking. Inside, there was a huddle of guardsmen.

"Leave us." she ordered. The guards gave Jon a wary look, and then stood, and all quickly left without a word.

"Here." she said, slamming the letter on the desk. "For you."

"What is this?" he asked, reading the letter over. He stopped after a few lines. "You want to apologize to Baelish for me?"

"It's what he would want me to do." she said calmly. "And if you want to use me, to control Littlefinger, I'm giving you that option."

He read it again, and then crumpled it. He stood, and threw it in the flames behind him. He returned to his chair. Sansa stared at him blankly.

"You're not my bargaining tool." he said. "And I'll never see you that way again."

She blinked, surprised at his response.

"Thank you." she said quietly. "I'm not giving any piece of myself up, not anymore."

"I should have never even thought of it." he said. He reached for her hand. "We will figure this out, my love. Another way."

"Another way, then." she said, satisfied.


	10. Chapter 10

2 weeks later

Jon watched Sansa in the sitting room of their bedchamber, sitting beside the hearth in a great plush chair, playing with a shirtless baby. Sansa was in short sleeves as well, her shoulders and bosom exposed, and her hair was scooped up on top of her head in a mess of braids. On the table there was a platter of grapes, wine, cheese, and bread. She sang softly to the child, who had a head of dark hair, and bright blue eyes.

Jon himself, looked down, crouching on the rug. There was a toddler, there with gingery brown hair, looking up at Jon, smiling brightly.

"Come now." Jon heard himself say, as he urged the child forward. As the child waddled forward, Jon noticed it's perfectly round eyes, shockingly purple.

"Jon." a voice said firmly. Jon looked away from his child, to the corner of the room. A raven tapped at the glass of the room. Jon looked back at the baby, urging him on with a smile. The baby cooed, and then carefully planted one chubby foot into the white fur carpet in front of him.

"Jon!" the voice said again, and Jon looked up. Bran stood there, at the window. Stood, Jon wondered, blinking at his brother.

"Bran!" he said, delighted.

"Come help me, Jon." Bran pleaded. "I'm in Queenscrown, and I need you, Jon, please."

Everything about the room shattered, and Jon woke up, sitting up straight, gasping for air. Sometimes, when he awoke suddenly, he had the same horrid gut wrenching feeling he had when he awoke from the dead. Like his whole body was different, dipped in the ice water of reality.

He grabbed at Sansa, shaking her.

She groaned, squinting her eyes up at him.

"What?" she whispered. Then she snapped into consciousness, and sat up as quick as he had. "What is it?" she demanded, her voice stronger now. "What's wrong?"

"Bran!" He said, grabbing her shoulders. "He's close, he's just south of the wall." he jumped from the bed, dressing as quick as he could.

"How do you know?" Sansa cried out at him as he hurried through the room.

"I had a dream, Sansa." he said. "And I know it sounds..."

"Ridiculous." she said.

"I don't care." he laughed, buttoning his coat around his shoulder. "I'm not going to miss the chance. Even if there's a chance, Sansa, a tiny little one...I'm not going to miss it."

"Go then." she sighed. "It's not too far, is it?"

"Less than a day on horseback. I'll be back this time tomorrow." he said.

"I can't go with you?" she demanded of him.

"Leave Winterfell without a Stark?" he asked her. She frowned.

"Arya could stay." she said.

"Arya is coming with me." he said, shoving clothes into a sack now. "You can't sword fight on horseback, and the road is dangerous, even with our banners. And a carriage would slow us down."

She frowned again.

"I'm bringing him home, Sansa." he said, bending over to her suddenly, grabbing her face with his hands. She saw then, the sureness of his words. He'd seen him, she now had no doubt.

"Go." she said. "Be safe."

He kissed her forehead, and made for the door. She heard him yelling orders, waking the men up, rousing his men behind him with a sort of eagerness she could only attribute to the thrill of battle. The determination and confidence she so admired in him.

She fell back asleep quickly, curled around the warmth Jon's body had left behind.  
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The snow, as they grew closer North, turned into a thick slush, and then hard chunks of ice. But they drove the horses on, against the storm.

Arya stuck close at Jon's side. The journey was long, and seemed only longer because of what may lie at the end of it.

The snow began to lessen closer to Queenscrown, and they were able to ride faster, and with more confidence.

Finally, as the sun began to sink, Jon made out the Queenscrown inn in the distance, alight from within.

"We're nearly there." he shouted over the wind. The group of men urged the horses on faster.

They neared the inn, and the way the town was positioned, created an alcove of protection from the wind. It was eerily quiet, Jon noticed.

"You're here!" a voice called out suddenly, and Jon saw a figure in the contrast of the light against the hall behind it. He and Arya dismounted first, and walked up to a girl with curls as black and wild as Jon's, covered in wildling style cloaks. "He must have called to you." she took Jon's hand, and pulled him inside the Inn. Nobody seemed to look up as the troop of rescuers clammored in. They all looked odd, Jon noticed, going about their chores, eating, or relaxing, in odd dreamlike movements. Their eyes, he realized, were glossy, and pale.

Before he could ask, Meera pulled him up the steps towards the rooms above. She led him and Arya down a hall, and then into a candlelit room.

"Bran!" Arya screamed, delighted. She rushed him, falling on the floor beside him, waiting for his equally excited response. But instead, he didn't move, but stayed silent, staring at the ceiling.

"What's wrong with him?" Jon demanded of Meera.

"No, it's alright, he's...he's okay, he's just not here, right now."

Jon moved quickly, throwing Meera against the wall and pinning her with an elbow.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded.

"Nothing!" she screamed. "Listen to me, listen to me, he's the three eyed raven. He's travelling, through time most like. In a vision sort of thing. You dreamed him, didn't you?"

He stepped back, looking at her in surprise.

"That's the only way he can communicate, when he's like that. He called for you, and you came."

"Who are you?" Arya asked.

"Meera Reed." she replied. "My brother and I helped...helped Bran. I've seen you, before, Jon Snow." she nodded at him. "At Craster's Keep."

"You were there?" he asked, his voice hollow. "Was...was Bran?"

"He needs to be near a Weirswood tree, to get out of it, I think. The godswood, at Winterfell."

"We will take him, then."

"Strap him on my horse, and then she can ride with you." Arya said. "Gather him, we need to hurry." she called to the men as they walked into the room. They bent, a couple scooping up Bran's angular body with ease.

"Meera." Jon said, his voice softer now. "I'm sorry for shouting. Your mother, she came to see me. She told us about you."

"I can explain everything, if you want." she said. "On the way to Winterfell. Everything I've seen."  
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Sansa awoke the next day, hardly having slept a wink. She awoke to the sound of horses in the courtyard, and the cries of men. She scrambled from bed, pulling on only a cloak over her nightgown, and pulling on her boots without lacing them.

She didn't care if she was supposed to be a proper lady of the house. Right then, it didn't matter.

She saw men walking out of the gates, and to the right, in the direction of the godswood. She rushed down the wooden stairs, and through the courtyard, slipping on ice every few steps.

"Sansa." A voice said, reaching her her. She whipped around, to see Ser Davos looking down at her.

"Where?" she sputtered.

"Take a breath, m'lady, your...brothers-" he glanced around, for affirmation nobody was listening. "Jon is taking Bran to the godswood, with Arya. They are fine. Bran...Bran is in a state."

"A state?" she demanded. "Is he ill?"

"I don't believe so." he said, still holding Sansa's shoulders. "Go see your brother, fine, but know he isn't there to greet you right now. So he wouldn't be one to mind if you properly laced your boots, to keep the snow out."

Sansa took a breath, and nodded, sinking to the ground to tie up her heavy leather boots.

"And take this." he said. "I'm heading inside, anyhow. Gods aren't my area of expertise." he layered his cloak atop hers, and she was grateful for the next layer of warmth.

"Thank you, Ser Davos." she said, bowing her head slightly. And then she rushed from the castle gates, and down the hill towards the Godswood.


	11. Chapter 11

Sansa ran through the trees of the Godswood, the dawn only just breathing life into the forest. She saw them through the trees, the familiar figure of Jon's dark head, surrounded by three guards, and beside Arya and another figure she couldn't place.

She scrambled ahead, breathing heavy, her breath turning into thick white smoke as she did.

She pushed through the people, and looked down at her brother, who she'd not layed eyes on since she was 11. She cried out when she saw his face, now hardened into that of a young man. His baby features gone, his sweet inquisitive brow now thick and full. His once brown eyes were now pale, and the figure she didn't recognize was slipping off Bran's glove, and pressing it into the trunk of the tree.

She knelt beside Arya, near Bran's legs. There was silence, as they waited. After what seemed like eternity, Bran sat up, simply, his eyes normal. He looked around at his sisters, and then to Jon, and he smiled. A real smile. A smile, Meera thought, she'd never seen once.

Arya threw her arms around him, tightening against him as much as she could without fearing hurting him. Sansa cried, tears freezing to her cheeks as she did, bent over Bran's legs.

"Arya." Bran said, his voice deeper and more hoarse. Both the girls giggled at this change, and then Sansa was hugging him, and Jon was there too, kissing his forehead and clapping him on the back.

Another Stark had made it home. The last Stark. He'd made it home.  
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Now there was a strength in the Stark house that hadn't been there since Ned walked out. Though the houses had declared him King in the North, Jon felt oddly comforted by the fact there was now a trueborn son, a truly legitimate son, to stand alongside him.

Bran was carried to his old room, with a larger bed, and the three Starks gathered around him, listening as he went on, nearly for three hours, every detail he had learned. Sharing, what he thought might benefit them.

"I'm so sorry." he'd said to Sansa, as soon as she sat down. "My sister...Sansa. I wish I could have been there to help you. That anyone could have been there."

She'd whimpered, and gathered his hands in hers, kissing them.

Jon watched in awe as Bran told them everything he'd learned that may help. About the Dragon queen, then just days from hitting Kings Landing. 'Your aunt' Bran had told him, as simply as if that had always been that way. About the Night's King, nearly to the wall now. Of the dragons, of their great fire. The ending to this all. Jon watched as Bran did this from the same bed, years ago, Jon had kissed his forehead. Sure he was never to see him again.

"What you showed me..." Jon asked Bran finally, his curiosity getting the better of him. "was that my dream, or were you showing me my future?"

Bran smiled.

"You know the answer to that, Jon." Bran replied. Sansa gave Jon a puzzled look.

He didn't have to ask any questions about anything that happened, he simply knew. And they understood that he knew, in fact, understood that he knew more than any of them combined. Of past, and of future.

"We must go to her." Bran said to Jon. "Go to Daenerys Targaryen. You need her, now, and then she'll need you. And then, then she'll need me." Bran turned to Sansa. "And you, you will come too. It's not Daenerys that needs you, though, it'll be Jon."

Sansa looked up, her brow knotted in concern towards Jon.

"Why?" Jon asked Bran.

"Because she's carrying your heir, and you'll need to assure her safety. You wouldn't risk anyone in charge of protecting her, but you. So she'll go with us. But Arya, Arya will need to remain in Winterfell."

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." Arya sighed.

"An heir?" Jon asked. "My heir?"

Sansa turned around, looking guilty.

"I wasn't going to tell you until I knew for sure." she said softly.

"Sansa..." he said her name, his eyes lighting up. "Are you?"

He crossed the room to her then, throwing his arms around her. She sunk into him, feeling a sense of relief between them both.

"He's right." Jon whispered into her hair, and then pulled away. "You're not leaving my sight, Lady Stark."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." she whispered. "I didn't want you to worry."

"I'll worry no matter what you say." he said.

"We need to go, tomorrow, first thing." Bran said.  
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"Are you sure about this?" Sansa asked, as Jon and her laid side by side that night, only the candles in the room aglow.

"We've got to be." he said. "What else could we do, Sansa?" he turned, onto his side, sweeping a few locks of hair out of her eyes carefully.

"Just keep hiding? Moving south until the whole world is frozen over?" she offered, and he grinned. "Stay safe in our castle and pretend our doom isn't imminent?

"These walls won't hold long." he said.

"You'd keep them away longer." she snuggled close to him. "Just a bit longer."

"Aye." he said. "But could we win, we wouldn't ever have to give up our home, or the safety of our family."

"Don't fall in love with her." Sansa said. "The Targaryen. I hear she's the most beautiful queen the world has seen."

"I'm not a fan of blondes." Jon admitted, and Sansa laughed. "And a direwolf is a much more loyal and tame beast than a dragon."

She raised a brow.

"I feel as though I should take offense to that." she said, but there was a smile in her voice. "And I remind you you're the only man I'd allow in the world to tame me."

"And even I rarely can." Jon said. "You know...earlier, when we were talking to Bran."

He slid his hand over her now flat belly. She closed her eyes, relishing the now familiar feel of his rough fingers.

"I saw in my dream, Sansa." he said. "Our children. They were-"

There was a banging on the door, and then it burst open.

Jon jumped up, and Sansa screamed.

"M'lord, I'm so sorry." A guard began, but then a figure pushed past him.

"Ed!" Jon said, visibly taken aback.

"I'm not sorry." Ed said, with a grim smile. "They made it, they're nearly to the wall. The rangers came back...they're just past Craster's Keep. "

"No." Sansa whispered.

"Get dressed, Sansa." Jon said, over his shoulder. "Brenn." he shouted to the guard behind Ed, who stood at attention. "Ready the horses, we need to get to Kings Landing as fast as possible. We'll need thirty men, and we'll rally the rest from Manderly's manor. We won't need many with us, it's here that will need the men."

"Lord Commander." Ed said.

"You know I'm no-"

"I need...Lord Commander Snow." Ed said softly. "I need to apologize to him."

Jon grabbed his face, glaring at him.

"It's not your fault." he growled. "You know that. There's no need to apologize."

Ed nodded, briskly.

"I'll need you to be focused, you hear me?" Jon said, and pounded him on the shoulder. "Go, fill your belly before you leave, and make sure we get you a fresh horse."

Ed nodded, again, looking more determined.

"Go." Jon said softly, a hint of danger in his voice.

The door was shut, and he looked back at Sansa, who still sat in bed, clutching the furs around her shoulders. She was breathing heavily.

"You're alright." Jon said, crossing the room and reaching for her. "I'll be with you, we'll be okay. We have a good week before they reach the wall, and then, with the men, it'll buy us another couple weeks. We can get to King's Landing. We'll make it."

She swallowed, and then nodded. Her eyes hardened, and she clenched her jaw.

"There's the Queen of the North." he said.

"No Queen without her King." she said. He kissed her on the forehead.

"Dress." he said.


	12. Chapter 12

Every day as they rode, it grew warmer. And Sansa, with every step the horse took, felt as though she was being taken further and further from the home she fought so hard to win back.

But then Jon would ask her how she was feeling, and she'd snap back into the present. Her home was there, beside her. She just had to keep reminding herself of that.

Sansa didn't mind the travelling either. She was grateful to shed some of the heavy furs, and let her skin breathe. And unlike the proper ladies of the South, she wasn't hidden in a carriage behind them. She rode atop a horse, beside her King, with her loyal men beside her. And at night, she slept soundly, exhausted from the hours of riding.

One morning, she was awoken by the normal sounds of the camp awakening. There was a clatter of noises as fires were started, food was being prepared, the horses fed and watered.

Jon was gone, as he usually was. Up before the light. She remembered waking up like this, on the road when they were asking for house's allegiance. It felt like a millennia before then. She felt older, in ways, but stronger too.

She dressed in her riding clothes, her leather fur lined pants, and a heavy embossed green cloak. She unknotted her hair impatiently, not feeling like bothering with the painstaking designs she was used to at home. She pinned it away from her face, and then a simple braid down her back. At her throat, she had a Stark broach on her choker.

She stepped outside of the tent, and into the morning mist. They were only a few days off from Kings Landing, where Daenerys was docked just outside Blackwater bay, waiting to attack.

She walked across the camp, nodding at the few people who bid her a good morning.

Jon was in the command tent, and she pushed through the flaps and into the warm interior.

"Not too much longer, we're just preparing in case there are Lannister forces willing to come from Casterly Rock."

"Doubt more than a hundred, right now they'll mostly be in Kings Landing, protecting their Queen."

"Very well." Sansa said. She approached Jon, beside him, looking down at the map.

"Are you doing well?" he asked.

"I am. And you?"

"Nervous." he admitted, quietly, and only to her. "But glad you're here."

"Good." she said. "I'm going to go break my fast. Is Bran up?"

"I believe so, near the mess tent."

Sansa turned around, and left. She walked through the mud, when a shadow blocked out the pale sun.

She looked up, and her eyes widened.

"Jon!" she called.

She heard the tent flaps flutter, and then Jon swore.

Above them, a pair of huge dragons circled, looking down on the camp.

"It's her." Sansa squeaked. "She...she really has them."

She looked over, and was surprised to see Jon smiling, his eyes aglow with wonder.

"Didn't think they'd be so bloody big." he said, half laughing.

"That's what people used to say about our wolves." Sansa said.

The dragons circled lower, and Sansa squinted, glancing a flash of blonde hair.

"Gods, she's riding one of them." she said. "That's...that's amazing." she whispered.

The dragons landed in a field a ways away. Riding up the hill behind them, was a small army, dressed in black leather.

"They don't look like they want to fight." Sansa commented.

"I'm not sure. That's a lot of men." Jon said.

Bran rode up to them, already saddled and fully dressed.

"I called to her." he said. "I wasn't sure if she would come."

"Can we trust her?" Jon asked up at Bran.

"More than any other ruler I've seen." Bran said simply.  
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They met in the middle of the field, Daenerys walking alone, with no guards beside her. Only the enormous dragons watching her from behind, eyeing the large Stark party with suspicion.

She wore a red gown, with riding pants beneath. Her long blonde hair hung in silvery waves down her shoulders. It wasn't envy Sansa felt when she looked at her, only inspiration. Sansa felt her own shoulders straighten, and she pulled her horse even further beside Jon, as she had been lingering behind.

"King in the North." Daenerys said as they finally met. Jon dismounted, and Sansa followed suit. "I've heard about you, Jon Stark. And of you, Sansa. From my hand."

"Your Hand?" Sansa asked, and Dany nodded.

Emerging from the crowd of soldiers beyond, Tyrion appeared, along with a pretty dark haired girl, and a serious looking soldier.

Sansa froze, her eyes adjusting to the sight of Tyrion. She opened her mouth to say something to Jon, but he held her hand up.

"You have a Lannister?" Jon asked.

"I'm afraid I'm not a large bargaining chip, Lord Commander." Tyrion said as he walked up. "And Sansa, my bride, you look well." he said darkly. "The North agrees with your complexion."

She remained frozen, unsure of what to say. She'd never expected to see the man again, her husband from King's Landing, betrothed as a joke to both their houses. And now here he stood, beside the woman they needed most in the world.

"Lady Sansa, fear not." Tyrion said. "We both know our marriage was hardly deserving of that name. It was never...sealed. My quarrel is not with you."

She nodded.

"Well, now that the reunion is over." Dany said, sounding a bit annoyed. "We can discuss why you've been appearing in my dreams."

Jon stepped forward.

"We need your help." He said. "Westeros...needs your help."

"Shall we discuss this in your command tent?" Dany said after a long pause.

"What do you know of the white walkers?" Jon asked as soon as they were seated at the small but fine wooden table. Sansa was at his side, Bran on the other. On the other side of the table, Dany sat, Tyrion on one side, Grey Worm beside him.

"Just from the dreams." she motioned to Bran. "And the legends, I suppose. As a little girl. We all hear the story, about the ice men beyond the wall. Meant to scare us."

"The Night King has over 100,000. And with each army they overtake, his numbers only grow." Jon said.

"And how do we defeat them?" she asked, seemingly amused.

"Fire." Jon said. "It's the only way to make sure they stay...they stay dead."

Daenerys looked upset now, her jaw clenching.

"You suggest I use my only asset, and ensure they're exhausted and unable to take Kings Landing?" she said. "That's not why I'm here, I'm afraid, killing ghosts from the north. I'm here to take my home back."

"You saw them yourself." Bran said.

"A trick of the mind." Dany said, and she stood. "We are done here. I shouldn't have trusted another magici-"

She turned, and began to leave the tent.

"My father fought for you." Sansa said, standing suddenly, after remaining quiet so long. Dany paused, and turned.

"Excuse me?"

"My father...Ned Stark. He tried to protect you. To keep Robert from sending assassins your way. 'No point in harming a child', he said." Sansa cried. "And we have since lived in a world that only hurts children. My father believed in protecting the innocent, and in keeping little girls safe from great and powerful men who might hurt her."

Daenerys waited, listening.

"And since he died, the men who would hurt the little girls, squander the weak, and kill any who got in their way...they are the ones who hold the power. I believe you aren't that way, and the North will accept you and bow to you, I assure you. They are good people, they know a good ruler when they see one. They follow my house faithfully. But none of this matters. None of it will matter. Because if we don't act fast, there will be no more North to accept you, to protect you from foreign invaders. They will grow stronger with each man they kill, and then nobody is safe. Even with your dragons, you will watch your people perish in the streets, and we will all die when Winter finally arrives."

"You were married to her?" Daenerys asked, raising a brow at Tyrion.

"She's better now." he said, smiling at her.

"We are offering you 40,000 troops." Sansa said. "And it's not a lot, but with that...with that comes the loyalty of the people whose lives you could save. It's no dragon. But we are offering you our help now, before there won't be anyone left to help."

Sansa took a breath, and waited.

"Lady Sansa." Dany said after a long pause. "We heard whispers of what you've been through, and I must admit...I wasn't expecting this. I was expecting a timid girl, actually. When you suffer, Lady Sansa, you do not get quieter. You grow strong. You fight for your house, and your rightful place in the world. That's what I'm doing. You were taken from your home, and you're taking it back."

Sansa nodded, and Daenerys sat again.

"Tell me what we're up against, then. Tell me of the Night's King."


	13. Chapter 13

_2 weeks later_

Sansa stood on top of the wall, or what was left of it. Most of it, at this point, was in crumbles. There were still stretches unfallen, and this is where she now found herself, Bran at her side.

The Stark siblings watched in stony silence as Daenerys, atop the beast she called Drogon, swept back and fourth, blowing hot flame across the army of the dead. Below them, closer to the wall, Jon led and army on foot, numbers surpassing 50,000, combined with the men of the north and what men Dany was willing to risk. These men simply killed the Wights that made it through.

It felt so simple it was like a culling, Sansa thought. With the aid of the three dragons, and the constant release of firebombs from the wall, it was child's play. This was a war they couldn't lose.

Daenerys guided Drogon up higher, and heard the two others close behind. She was breathing heavy, exhilarated from the thrill of battle. She was cold, though, colder than she could recall ever being in her life. Those Starks, she thought, were stronger than they looked. Even in the fine fur outfit Sansa has given her, she could feel the cold permeating her chest. She leaned closer to Drogon's scales, hoping to feel the warmth from the fire within him.

Jon hadn't been exaggerating. When they'd first arrived to the wall, the night before, she could see then why Jon and Sansa had come to her. It was more men then she'd ever seen on a battlefield before. Even more men than the Khalasar, which when she had been beside Khal Drogo, had over 100,000. But these weren't men, she realized, when she flew close enough. They were reanimated corpses, truly terrifying, but also a great disrespect to the dead.

Not only was this a service to Westeros, but it would also prove her to the people. That she would be their protector.

She dipped lower, and felt the hot flame erupt again, setting a group of nearly 100 ablaze.

They'd made enough progress that the Wights were dying out, and she could see the white men on horses behind them now, watching in silence. Their cold blue eyes pierced her through the distance.

She'd finally spotted their leader.

It would be easy, she realized. They would die as simply as the rest of them.

She looked over her shoulder, trying to catch Jon's eyes. He saw her, and she pointed. He looked across the field, and felt his stomach turn to ice. He looked back at her, and nodded slowly.

She lifted up again, flying with grace over the stretch of ice.

The Night's King watched the dragon girl fly closer. They would lose, today, he knew that to be true. But they wouldn't go without a fight.

He lifted his hand, aiming his spear right for the beast's throat. He let go, and the spear missed, but sunk into Drogon's shoulder. Drogon cried out, and began to descend, faster than Dany wanted.

Daenerys and Drogon crash landed in a heap a few yards away from the four horsemen. Dany slid off the back of the dragon, and into the deep snow.

"Dracarys!" she called up at Drogon, but when he opened his mouth, nothing happened. She felt panic rising in her chest. Drogon swept his tail around her, protecting her as best he could. The ice spear had frozen his fire, Dany realized, as she pressed her palm against the piece of his chest that usually glowed red hot. It was ice cold.

Rhaegal and Viserion circled above, and then Rhaegal took a sudden detour, back towards the wall.

He landed in the midst of the northerners, and cried out. The Stark men scattered, some of them screaming in terror. Jon's horse spooked, and Jon was suddenly thrown from it, and fell into the snow.

Rhaegal moved over, vocalizing impatiently as he moved through the snow. Steam erupted from his nostrils. He bent low, his huge head dangling over Jon.

Jon looked up, confused, and suddenly scared. The Dragon Queen had betrayed them.

But when Rhaegal dipped his head again, closer to Jon, it wasn't to bite or burn him. Instead, he nudged him, rolled Jon over until Jon was on his feet.

Jon was breathing heavy, trying to figure out what the beast wanted. Finally, the dragon motioned with his head, tossing it back. Trying to communicate.

Jon felt something shift in his blood. An instinct, perhaps. But he stepped forward, and using one of the dragon's back legs, pulled himself up onto the slick scales.

He'd guessed right.

Rhaegal took off, and like Jon could with Ghost, he guided the beast towards Daenerys.

And the beast flew. Jon cried out, his emotions a combination of pure delight and abject terror. But the adrenaline of the battle made him ignore his fear.

Sansa nearly fell over as she watched her husband take to the sky on the great winged beast.

"He really is a Targaryen." she said to Bran in wonder.

"They will save us all." Bran said.

Rhaegal landed beside his brother, and with a protective ferocity, unleashed a torrent of flame stronger than usual. The horses of the four men burst into flame, and the walkers jumped from them, trying to avoid the blast. Jon unsheathed his sword, and jumped off the back of the dragon. He slashed the oncoming defenses of wights and white walkers with ease, and felt another burst of flame beside him.

He was upon the Night's King then, nearly face to face with him.

"Snow." The Night's King hissed, long and slow. He didn't seem afraid.

Jon shoved the sword through his belly, and the Night's King burst.

And with his death, came silence. Jon looked around, confused. What had once been a cacophonous battlefield seconds before, suddenly seemed as quiet as an empty field.

All that were left, the wights, the walkers, the blue eyed horses. They all fell to the ground, into the snow. Without the power of the king, they had no power themselves.

Rhaegal let out a sudden roar, shaking the trees nearby free of their snow.

Jon moved towards Drogon, who moved his tail away from his mother. She stood in the snow, looking at him in surprise.

"You rode Rhaegal?" she asked.

"Is he named after Rhaegar, by chance?" Jon asked. "Because there's something we neglected to tell you."

She nodded once, her hand not leaving Drogon's neck.

"We didn't want you to see us as a threat to the Iron Throne." he said. "Because we're not interested in it. But my father wasn't Ned Stark." he said. "I'm the child of Lyanna Stark, and your brother, Rhaegar."

Daenerys blinked.

"Sansa isn't your sister?" she asked.

"A cousin." he said.

"And the baby she carries-"

"Will only be called Stark, my queen." he said. "Nobody knows, beside Sansa, Bran, and Arya."

"But you can make heirs." she said. "You can produce heirs with Targaryen blood for the kingdom."

Jon was worried now. She seemed angry.

"And you can control my dragons." she said, looking up at Drogon.

She reached her hand out, and Rhaegal crossed to her.

"Give him his flame." she said. Rhaegal stepped back, and when Dany moved to the side, blew fire across the scales of Drogon for a long minute. Drogon's eyes closed, and he seemed to relish the heat from his brother.

After he finished, Daenerys stepped forward, pressing her palm against Drogon's belly again. She felt the fire burning once more. She smiled up at Drogon, whispering something in Valyrian.

She mounted him again, and without another word to Jon, she took off, her other dragons close behind.

"No..." Jon whispered, as he watched her fly to the wall, in the direction of Sansa. He shouldn't have told her. His child was a threat to her throne, and Daenerys wasn't the type to take threats lightly.


	14. Chapter 14

Dany landed atop the wall, and the men around Sansa and Bran scattered. But the Stark children did not move. They barely, Daenerys noticed, bothered to flinch.

She dismounted, and Drogon took off as quickly as he'd landed.

"Lady Sansa." Daenerys called. Sansa was surprised, but stepped forward. "I'd like to audience with you alone."

Sansa turned to the men around her, and nodded. She walked forward, alone, to Daenerys. They crossed the icy top of the wall, to the edge, where they stood alone.

"You must forgive me for leaving your husband unaided." she said, motioning to the lone figure of Jon amongst the dead. Tormund, Sansa noted, had already began his way towards Jon, a spare horse in tow. "I had no horse, and I'm afraid the cold was getting to me."

"It's not much warmer, yet." Sansa said. "But the thaw will be here, now that they've gone. I worry, though, for the words of my house. Winter came. And it was destroyed, and left."

Daenerys smiled, and Sansa smiled back.

"Jon told me of his true heritage." Dany said finally. "Of course, it would have become clear. Dragons answer nobody but Targaryens."

Sansa looked down, tightening her hands above the fabric protecting her stomach.

"I am going to tell you something, Sansa Stark, that nobody else knows. And you must promise me not to tell anyone, aside from your husband. Although, I'm sure..." she motioned towards Bran. "But nobody else."

"Of course." Sansa said.

"I can't have children." Daenerys said. "I sacrificed that ability to attempt to save someone I loved. I will never have children."

Sansa waited, but she felt her heart sink for Daenerys. This young woman, who had come this far to sit on the throne, couldn't do anything herself to assure her name and house remained strong.

Daenerys smiled at her again, a gentler smile.

"Don't feel pity for me, Sansa. I will sit on the Throne. I will bring honor to my family. But I know that's not what you want, not my throne. Jon neither. Neither Stark will sit on the throne."

Sansa nodded. They'd made that very clear.

"But your child...and any other children you bear for Jon. They will."

Sansa let this sink into her, and realized what she meant.

"You can't tell anyone Jon's true name." Sansa said. "We worry the North will answer only to a Stark."

"I won't." Daenerys said. "Not for a very long time, Lady Sansa. Your home is safe. Your house is safe. And your children, of course, will be just as Stark as they are Targaryen."

Sansa nodded, but was silent.

"I am trusting you, Sansa." Daenerys said. "Because I see myself in you. I see the fire that burns in me, just as strong, in you. I won't take your children from you, either, I trust you and Jon more than anyone in Westeros. You will raise them, and can join them in Kings Landing when they come of wedding age."

Sansa fell to her knees. She looked out over the ruined stretch of ice, covered in bodies. This war had been won. Another victory to celebrate. She felt tears stinging her eyes. Tears of relief, of joy.

Daenerys turned, looking down at Sansa.

"I'll need you and Jon in the north, for now. To aid your people in the time of transition. But I may call upon you, Sansa Stark. Do you swear to me your allegiance? Can I trust you to do this for me?"

"Yes." Sansa whispered, looking at the ground. And then up at the face of Daenerys. "Yes. For you, my Queen, anything."

"You are a Queen as much as I." Daenerys said, again with a gentle smile. She helped Sansa to her feet. "We stand on equal ground."

Sansa nodded, feeling ridiculous for the tears that were solidifying on her face.

"Forgive me." Sansa said, brushing them away. "Being with child causes havoc on my self-control."

Daenerys smiled, wide and bright.

"We will rest at Winterfell, Sansa." Daenerys said. "And then, then we will march to King's Landing."  
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Jon and Sansa reunited at the camp. Jon could nearly cry with relief, at seeing her beside Dany. Ignoring any sort of proper behavior, he rushed Sansa, taking her in his arms. She sighed, pressing her head against his chest.

There was great excitement in the camp. A battle well fought, and well won, with nearly no loss of life on their side. There was great barrels of ale being broken open, and Jon was sure he'd seen a couple women being pulled into tents, from the nearby brothel.

"We ride for your home, tomorrow." Daenerys said to him. "And then take leave there for a few days, before Kings Landing. Tonight, though, sleep soundly." she said, reaching for him, kissing him on the cheek. She turned, and did the same to Sansa.

She left them, and Jon guided Sansa through the camp, to the tent at the far edge.

"There will be a day," he said. "where our lives are surrounded only by thick stone walls, and no longer canvas."

She smiled, gladly pulling off her top coat, feeling the weight on her shoulders decrease.

"Not a day too soon." she said, sitting in a chair.

"What did Daenerys have to say to you?" Jon asked.

"She wanted to ask a favor of us." Sansa said softly. "Since you have Targaryen blood, she wants our children to sit on the Iron Throne."

"But what about-" Jon asked after a second, and Sansa shook her head.

"She can't, Jon. She can't do it herself." she said.

"If the men in the north found out who I am..." he began, and she shook her head again.

"They won't, not for a long long time." she assured him.

He clenched his jaw.

"That's a lot of pressure, Sansa."

"I know." she said. "But we needed her. She needs you."

He sat across from her, taking her hands.

"If you're alright with it, Sansa." he said, and she nodded.

She stood, bending to meet his face. She gently took his face in her hands, and puller him closer. "We've won a great battle, Lord Stark." she kissed the side of his jaw, and then his neck. She could smell the scent of dirt, blood, and smoke on his clothes. But lower was the smell of Jon, and together, these smells made her suddenly visceral.

She bit gently on his neck, and he groaned in surprise.

"We can't." he whispered.

She frowned.

"The rest of the men do."

"Aye." he said, lowering his hand from her shoulder to her hip. "But what if someone is to come in? See their King and Queen acting so undignified?"

Sansa pushed away from him, and stepped into the night.

"Brienne!" she called, but saw Podrick outside the tent, alone.

"She's just sleeping, m'lady." Podrick began. "I can go wake her."

"No need, Podrick." she said. "You'll do fine. Just...do not allow anyone in this tent. Unless we are screaming for assistance, or the tent is ablaze, nobody enters."

He looked nervous, and glanced around to see if anyone else heard.

"Of course, m'lady. Nobody." he said.

She nodded, and shoved back into the tent.

"There." she said, matter of factly. Jon laughed, and reached for her. He tucked her hair behind her ear, and then pulled her closer, to his chest, holding her. He felt her fingers working carefully, untying the straps at his chest.

"There's no rush." he said to her softly. She looked up, and then smiled.

"I'm sorry." she said, shaking her head. "I guess...I always feel like I have to hurry. Like you'll slip away."

"I'm right here." he said. "Not going anywhere."

She smiled, and leaned her forehead against his chest. After a long moment, he felt her hands slowly lingering up his belly. He laughed, and then she giggled.

"I guess I just can't help it." she admitted.

"Come on." he said, nodding to the bed. "Let me help you then."


	15. Chapter 15

Months later

The North had thawed, and despite the place beyond the wall still being a tundra, Winterfell was now surrounded with newly green rolling hills. The forests filled up with game, and nobody was hungry.

Sansa was round and warm with child. She spent much more time outside now, tending to the gardens, feeding the chickens, or just sitting on a turret, watching the quiet countryside. When she walked through the courtyard, she could imagine doing the same several years from now, just as pregnant, but with a mess of children running about her feet. But now, she walked alone, in the quiet, just resting her hands on her belly.

She was getting close, she realized, as she had to make two tries to make it to the top step of the staircase she was climbing.

"How big is that thing?" a voice asked in astonishment from behind her. Sansa turned, glaring at her sister, who laughed.

"Pretty big." Sansa admitted. "Also, that's quite rude."

Arya giggled again, then ducked beside her sister, and gave her a hand to the top of the stairs.

Sansa groaned, uncomfortable.

"Why don't you just have it already?" Arya asked.

"One, it doesn't work like that." Sansa said, walking towards the end of the hall. Arya followed her. "Two, I want Jon to be here."

"To see you screaming and covered in blood?" Arya asked. "Yeah...yeah he'll love that."

"He is a bit past due." Sansa frowned. "I feel like I've been pregnant for ages."

"You have." Arya said. The sisters leaned against the wall, and looked out over the rolling hills. Mist gathered in the lower parts of the land. Arya sat her head in her hands, and smiled over at Sansa.

"You're so pretty, Arya." Sansa said. "Your hair is growing out again, you should let it down."

"Sansa." Arya sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Really!" Sansa said, and reached for a lock of Arya's hair. Arya smacked her away, and Sansa laughed.

"You'll never be the lady we wanted you to be." Sansa sighed. Arya shot her a look. "And I'm perfectly happy that way, Arya." Sansa said, her voice defensive. "I'm proud of you, for being stronger than me. I couldn't have done what you did."

"Mostly because you don't look anything like a boy." Arya sighed. "And I couldn't do what you did either, Sansa. I would have killed that Ramsay the moment he crossed my path, and end up hung for it I'm sure."

"I probably should have." Sansa said, raising a brow.

"Banners!" Arya cried, pointing at the hill beside the castle, where the small party had just crossed.

"He's home." Sansa sighed, relieved.

Arya squinted, watching the banners in the distance grow closer.

"And right as you got to the top, too." Arya said, mocking pity.

Sansa glared at her, and then turned, going back to the staircase. She swept around the corner, and down the steps with as much grace as possible.

She reached the courtyard just as the doors of Winterfell were pulled open. She could hardly contain her excitement, and she bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet. She waited, searching for Jon in the faces of those who rode through the gates. She felt panic in her belly as she didn't see him on the backs of the horses. She ran to the guard closest to her, reaching for his horse.

"Where's Jon?" she asked.

"Oh, m'lady-" the guard said, looking down nervously and then dismounting. She stepped back, waiting, her brow bunched up in horror.

"He just had a fall from his horse...he's in the carriage at the rear."

Before he could explain further, Sansa was running through the horses, slipping in the mud. She saw the carriage, and tore in between the last two horses, and pushed up to the door.

"Oh gods, I told them not to tell you." Jon moaned from the darkness of the carriage.

She growled in frustration, and crawled in. The only light was coming in through the open door. She moved towards him, and then heard him cry out in pain, causing her to jump.

"My leg, Sansa." he sighed. "I broke it."

"How?" she demanded, reaching for his hands.

"I know." he grunted, and she felt him shift. "Made it through three battles and a death, and then break my leg falling off a horse."

"Oh, darling." Sansa said, smiling at him. "We can be bedridden together."

"After the trip I had," he sighed. "That sounds like heaven came for me early."

She stepped out, waving over a couple of stewards.

"No!" he said stubbornly. "You are not carrying me out."

"Jon-" Sansa began to protest.

He swore, and then was pulling himself out of the carriage. He landed on one foot, the other leg tightly splinted. He reached back inside for the makeshift cane he had with him.

"You're more stubborn than a Dornish Ox." Sansa said.

"I'm fine, Sansa." he said, finishing it.

"C'mon, I can teach you to embroider." she said, taking his free arm and guiding him towards the house. He groaned, but was smiling.  
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Sansa awoke a few nights later, to a sharp pain in her belly and then a flood of water between her legs.

She reached for Jon, but then was rocked by a heavy contraction, and squeaked in pain. Her fist tightened around his arm, and he turned, muttering her name.

"Time." she gasped. "It's time."

"You alright?" he asked, sitting up as Sansa continued squeezing his arm in pain.

She shook her head.

"It's not exactly pleasurable." she hissed through clenched teeth. "Maester. And send for the midwife."

He stood, flinching in pain, and made his way to the door to call for a nearby steward.

Within a few minutes, the maester was there, as well as a couple handmaidens with the midwife on her way. The bed was stripped and re-made, there was a stack of clean towels beside it, and a copper tub of water being warmed beside the fireplace.

Sansa was nervously braiding and rebraiding her hair as she sat on the bed. The contractions were strong, and getting close together faster than she thought. She was in between a pair, and the anxiety waiting for the next one was making her skin crawl.

"Is this normal?" she asked the maester, reaching for the sleeve of his robe. "I read it could take hours, but they're so close together."

"Aye, it's normal, my dear. Especially for your first child. I expect as soon as Cliara gets here, you'll be ready to start." he said in his usual calm voice.

Sansa's eyes widened with panic, right as her body was overtaken by another contraction. She cried out, as it shot up her spine and then around her ribs. She tried to take a deep breath, but expanding her lungs only seemed to deepen the pain. She closed her eyes, moving as little as possible, waiting for the pain to subside.

She felt a cool hand on her face, the rough calloused fingers familiar on her skin.

As she eased away from the contraction, she opened her eyes slowly. Her head was foggy, but the relief from the pain was welcome.

"You're alright." Jon said softly. He was smiling, slightly, and seemed completely oblivious to the other people in the room. "You can do this."

He was standing beside her, balanced on his good leg and teetering on the splint.

"If you don't sit down, your leg is never going to heal." Sansa said, trying to glare at him.

"You're not very intimidating when you're in such pain." he joked with her, and won a glimmer of a grin.

"You don't have to be here." Sansa said to him. "You could go wake Arya."

"And I'm sure she'd be such a comfort." he said dryly.

"Well, I don't want you to feel obligated-"

"Quiet." he said, kissing her on the forehead. "End of discussion."

She nodded.

"Here." he said, moving her forward a bit and sitting behind her. "Let me do this."

He unbraided her loose red locks, and began to braid it from the top of her head. He carefully folded them around one another, chewing on his bottom lip as he worked. He was nearly done when he felt her muscles tighten, and he let the braid fall. Sansa was clutching her stomach, so he reached around and put his hands on top of hers. She clutched at his forearm, and curled to the side. He let her fall into a lying position, and helped her settle into his lap, resting mostly on his good leg.

There were tears on her face when it ended. He smoothed her face and neck, and she closed her eyes. She could feel the inevitable on it's way. The child was moving, and wanted out. As determined and fearsome as it's father and mother.

Through the door walked the midwife, Cliara, who rushed to Sansa's other side. She reached for a towel, and dabbed it across Sansa's forehead.

"Much faster than you'd think, isn't it, m'lady?" Cliara asked in her usual good-humored manner. "Sorry m'lord, she might hurt you if she's on your legs like that." she ushered him away, and she seemed fine with him leaning beside the frame.

Sansa felt like she wanted to run and hide, or break down into tears. But that feeling was one she was familiar with, and she'd long learned to bear it. So she swallowed, and sat up straighter, and clenched her jaw.

Jon saw her fists tightening around the blankets, and saw her lips straighten.

"Sansa, don't worry about being proper right now." Jon said, leaning down. "You have nobody to hide from."

She nodded, and tried to relax. But as soon as she let herself, she felt the tears springing back into her eyes. With every beat of her heart, it brought her that much closer to the pain.

He pressed her head against his, thumbing away the tears as they fell.

She had him to hold onto as she screamed into the night.


	16. Chapter 16

And there he was, with his reddish gold curls and dark lavender eyes. An heir to the Iron Throne and a Lord of Winterfell, Aden Stark, given an old family name, since they couldn't choose from the multitudes of other deceased namesakes before him. But Sansa could care less his title or future, all she wanted to do was exist purely in the moment, with just her and him.

She could suddenly understand her mother much better. And, oddly enough, Cersei. Because in the first second she held him, she realized she would do anything and everything to protect him. It didn't matter where he came from, or even his name, all that mattered just then was her and her son.

He'd arrived just mere hours after Sansa had woken, with a quick and easy labor. They'd taken him away, washing him and swaddling him before finally handing him to Sansa. She looked down, so filled with love and joy it was like for a moment, nothing was pain. Everything in her life was perfect.

"I'll run and get the wet nurse." a handmaiden said, and Sansa looked up.

"No." she said with a smile. "There's no need. He's mine, I'll treat him as such."

She sat, illuminated by the firelight, in the center of their bed. She held their son to her chest, looking down at the baby with wonder. And for a moment, he felt a deep pang of sorrow for his brother, who would never share this feeling. And for his other life, sworn to the Night's Watch. But now to be here, in the peace of the room, with nothing but their future before them.

He realized, as one caught the light, there were tears running down her face.

"You alright?" he asked. She looked up, and smiled reassuringly. She reached for his hand with her free arm.

"Just never thought I'd be here, in this place, holding my child..." she admitted. "All while feeling so happy."

"I'm glad." he said, and she sniffed.

"Come on," she said after another minute. "come hold him, I'm being selfish."

He stood, using the table beside the bed to help himself up.

She handed him their son, and he carefully balanced Aden in the crook of his arm.

"He'll be quite handsome, won't he?" he said.

"He already is." she said with a giggle. "He'll look like Brandon, I think, with that nose."

"Hopefully be as tall as him, too." Jon said. "Gods help him if he's a ginger and my height."

"You're taller than me." Sansa protested.

"Barely." Jon whispered, laughing lightly. "Do you remember how bad it was?"

She thought for a minute, and then shook her head.

"Not even a little bit."

"I'll remind you next time."

Aden opened his mouth, beginning to fuss, opening and closing his lips around the air, searching for sustenance. Jon handed him back carefully, and Sansa returned him to her breast. Jon felt his chest fill with pride, and eagerness. But then was the overwhelming desire to crawl next to her in bed, and watch them together until he fell asleep.

And so he did.

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As the winter continued to thaw, Aden continued to grow. He soon changed from the wrinkly face of an newborn, to the smooth and smiling face of a healthy baby.

Sansa seemed different as well, smiled quicker, laughed easier. She dressed in warmer weather clothes, even though it still froze at night frequently. There were days, though, that she could dress lighter, in more free-moving clothes. Linen, even, on the warmest days.

She was usually found in her chambers, with baby Aden, reading or whispering stories and songs to him, nursing him, or napping with him. She couldn't get enough of his silk soft curls, or the dimple in his right cheek, or the way he would giggle up at her with his toothless smile, like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Many days Jon would return to their chamber at night to find Sansa still in her nightgown, her hair loose and a mess of tangles, and she'd be the happiest he'd ever seen her.

It was like this he found her one night a few months after Aden's birth. She was barefoot, holding Aden to her chest, swirling around the carpet in front of the hearth. She was singing softly, but stopped when she heard Jon come in.

"Look who returned to us!" she said to Aden, delighted. He squealed, and squeezed at a lock of her hair. He looked at Jon, and tugging on his mother's hair in glee.

"How was your day?" Jon asked, kissing her cheek and taking Aden from her arms. Aden snuggled into the crook of his neck, sleepily greeting him.

"Lovely." she said, leaning forward and kissing his lips. "As lovely as ever."

Aden reached out, tapping his mother's face. He cooed, and wrinkled his nose.

"I wish it was that easy for me to melt your heart." Jon said as he watched Sansa staring at her son.

"He does have me wrapped around his finger." she admitted. "My little lord. I always wanted this, I realized."

"Being a mother?"

"Yes, that. And having a little prince of the castle, maybe some princesses too. And being married to someone I loved, someone brave. A knight, just as fearsome as the ones in the storybooks."

He rolled his eyes.

"I don't think I'm as pretty as the ones in the storybooks." he said.

"Prettier." she said.

"You thought Joffery was pretty too, didn't you?" he asked. He was expecting a laugh, but instead got a surprised look.

"That's not fair." she said, frowning slightly.

"Sansa, wait, you know I didn't mean-" he said, but she'd already moved across the room. Aden was laying against his arm, playing with Jon's curls, investigating the texture of his beard.

"It's fine." she sighed, looking down at the bassinet that she was fussing with.

"I'm sorry." he said.

"You are nothing like him." she said, calmly. "You're exactly the man I read about. And all I could think about when I was with Joffery, and then Littlefinger, and then..." she let his name die in the air in front of them, not wanting to speak life to him. "The kind that would save me from the bad men, and the scary monsters. Not the ones who would sell them to me. I didn't know that men shouldn't be so wicked, cruel, or monstrous. I still believed in the good ones. I just never thought I'd be the one that would end up with one."

She waited. Jon looked shocked, as though he'd just been slapped across the face. Her truth had just tumbled from her so easily, he hadn't been expecting it.

She watched him stand there, and then he looked down at Aden, who was nodding off in Jon's arms. Sansa both loved at hated that. No matter what she did, putting Aden down for naps was nearly impossible. And then the moment he's in the safety of his father's arms, he slumbers instantaneously.

He walked over to her, carrying Aden delicately. He set him down into the bassinet, and Aden made a sleepy cry of resistance. But Jon kept his hand on the baby's stomach, and Aden wrapped his fists around Jon's fingers. In a moment, he was sleeping soundly.

"I don't know how you do that." Sansa said, laughing slightly. "I guess Aden and I are both like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"We sleep better when you're here." she said.

"I am sorry." he said, repeating himself. He reached for her waist. "It was a stupid joke."

"It was." she raised a brow, but slunk her arms around his neck. "I'm was being serious, though, about what I said."

"You're much too kind." he said. "You give me too much credit."

"When will I get a day with you?" she asked. "A day, not just a night, where we can go riding, and lay in the sun."

"Sounds like one of your storybooks." he said.

"So, that means tomorrow."

He knotted her hair in his fist, pulled her to his chest, and kissed her. He turned her head up, and kissed down her jaw. He heard the groan he'd ignited in her throat. He tightened his grip on her head, and moved his hand to the collar of her gown. He loosened it, and lightly brushed his fingers across the skin he'd exposed. She made another noise of satisfaction, and he looked up.

"Shhh." he said. "If we keep waking Aden up, he'll be an only child for the rest of his life."

She laughed, her nose wrinkling exactly like Aden's had earlier. She put her finger over her lips, and closed her eyes, waiting for her husband.


	17. Chapter 17

A year and a half later

Sansa walked through the courtyard, reading the letter from Daenerys she held in her hands. At her feet, Aden stumbled along, hanging onto thick tufts of Ghost's fur for support.

Sansa glanced up, towards the open gates, and for a moment saw a flash of red. She stopped, and then shook her head. She'd thought, just for a moment, she'd seen the red woman.

There was a tugging at her skirts, and she looked down.

Aden was pointing where she'd been looking. She looked up again, and gasped as she saw the red woman standing there. But the next moment she blinked, she was gone.

Panic sucked the breath from her chest. Something in the air had shifted.

She reached down for Aden, and secured him to her hip. She knotted her fist around Ghost's collar, and changed directions. Before, heading for the great hall, and now, straight to Jon's study.

"Papa!" Aden cried in excitement when Sansa pushed the door open. Jon started in surprise, and him and Ser Davos turned from the chart they were examining on the far wall.

"I saw something." Sansa said, her voice tense with worry. "The red woman. I saw her, a flash of her. Like a vision, right at the gates."

"What?" Jon demanded. He pointed at Ghost, who turned round and slumped onto the floor in front of the door. "Melisandre?"

"It looked like her, but it was far away. Don't all red priestesses look similar?" she asked, and Jon shrugged, looking at Davos for guidance.

"They can wear similar clothing and garments. And she used to say it was the Lord of Light who gave her such red hair, but if you ask me, it always smelled faintly of beets."

Sansa would have normally giggled at his joke, but he'd barely coaxed a smile from her. Aden, however, reached up to the sky and gave a funny little squeak of approval.

"I can't imagine why she'd want to do us harm." Jon said, blinking.

"What? After you excommunicated her, and threatened her with death after she rose you from it?" Sansa asked, and he looked surprised at her outburst. "I can handle men, men who come waving swords at us, or even men with sneakier plots. But...sorceresses. Oh, those stories scared me as much as the white walkers when I was small."

"I'll have someone send out a security patrol." Jon said. "All over the castle grounds and forest."

Sansa nodded. Aden began to fuss, reaching at Jon, squirming away from Sansa. Jon took him, kissing him on the forehead, and then tucking his long curls away from his ears.

"His hair's getting quite long." he commented.

"Said the kettle to the pot." Sansa said dryly.

"We will figure out who it was." Jon said, matter of fact. "And assure she cannot breach the walls of the castle."

Sansa nodded, but after seeing a vision of her, she was worried she already had.  
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For the rest of the day, Sansa felt nervous, like she was always checking over her shoulder. She finally relaxed when Jon joined her in the dining hall that evening.

"They didn't find anything." he said as he sat at the head of the table. Sansa was trying to coax some potatoes into her resistant son.

"Do you not believe me?" she asked him, her brow knotted in worry.

"I do, Sansa." he gave her a reassuring squeeze of the hand. "I swear."

She nodded, and took another sip of her wine. She turned back to Aden, who had turned his mouth into an 'o', and was waiting patiently for the spoon of food.

"Thank you!" she said, smiling widely. He took the food from the spoon, and munched on it, satisfied. "He only behaves when you're here." she said to Jon. He laughed, watching the pair of them. Aden screeched, and banged his hands on the table, agreeing.

"Oh my," Sansa began. "what a terrible and scary ruler you'll be."

Aden agreed with another smack of the table.

"And who will be in charge of protecting his family when I'm too old?" Jon asked, and Aden sat up straight, and then tapped his chest. "That's right! Now give me a scary direwolf growl.

Aden bared his teeth, and managed a small little yowl of a roar.

"I'd say he's ready now." Jon said to Sansa, and she laughed. She took another sip of her wine, and then Jon realized. "You don't normally drink wine, Sansa." he commented.

"I know." she said. "But Dany had a case sent, of Dornish wine, I think, and it's quite good."

Sansa looked up, towards the entrance of the dining hall. There stood Ramsay, watching her, smiling.

She blinked, thinking it was perhaps a trick of the light. But he'd moved closer, in the second she'd closed her eyes.

Jon watched his wife's face collapse into one of abject horror. He looked where she was staring, to see nothing but emptiness.

"What is it?" he asked. She didn't move, or respond.

Jon stood quickly, and walked around the table to pick up Aden. He called for a steward, who came out of the kitchens.

"Take Aden to Bran." Jon said. Sansa didn't seem to notice, and her eyes remained transfixed on the empty hall. "And on the way back, get the maester." Jon kissed Aden's face, pushing away the curls that fell, and then handed him over.

"Of course, m'lord." the steward said, and then was gone.

Jon sat beside Sansa, taking her face in his hands. She finally looked at him, and opened her mouth to say something. But the words died in midair.

"I see him." she whispered.

"Who?" he asked, although he was already bracing for the answer. The same man who haunted Sansa at night, every now and then.

"Ramsay." she whispered. She looked towards the hall again, and then reached for Jon. "He's getting closer." she said. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she was clutching onto Jon with a desperation he hadn't seen in years.

"Sansa, look back at me." he said. It took her a moment to pry her eyes off her hallucination, but she finally did. "He's not real."

'I'm real to you.' she heard Ramsay hiss as he moved closer.

"Did you hear that?" she asked, not looking up at him, keeping her eyes locked on Jon's.

"No." he said. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

She nodded, and let Jon help her up. He took her elbow, and began guiding her out of the room, towards the kitchens instead of the direction she'd been staring.

She was trembling, he realized, as he held her arm. He swallowed. Her mind was not something he could protect her from, not really. It's not like he wasn't going to try, though.

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Sansa didn't remember how she got in bed. The world around her was slowly slipping away, and the world of her worst nightmares was breaking into her reality. She could still hear and feel Jon, talking to her, holding her arms, trying to keep her grounded. But visually, he was disappearing.

"I can't see you." she said, desperate. She was sitting on the bed, cross legged, her eyes far away. Despite Jon sitting right next to her, she was blind to him. The room was darker, different, cold and uninviting. She looked down, and was startled to see she was tied to the bed.

The maester had finally told Jon it was a glimmer draft, and that whoever had made it had made it specifically with Sansa in mind, and could manipulate her into seeing whatever they wanted. And that whatever was happening, whatever she was seeing, it would only get worse before it got better.

"I've seen people under for nearly two days." the maester told Jon with a grim face. "She knows you're here now, Jon, but soon nothing in our reality will be available to her. She'll have to go through it alone."

Jon clenched his jaw, and nodded. Whoever was responsible for this would pay dearly, he would see to it personally.

"What if we gave her a sleeping draft?" he asked, and the maester shook his head.

"We could try." he began. "However, most are brewed in a way that makes sleeping drafts only strengthen their potions, assuring the victim can't escape. If we give it to her, there's a chance it might worsen everything. And she might not make it out."

"Make it out?" Jon asked. "Is she going mad?"

"In a small way, now, yes. But she might go completely if we give her anything."

Jon nodded.

"Do you want to be alone, with her, m'lord? There's not much I can do, I'm afraid."

"Yes." Jon said. "Thank you."

Jon rejoined Sansa on the bed.

"Sansa." he said softly. She looked in his direction, but her eyes remained unseeing.

"Jon?" she asked, confused. He took her in his arms.

"Can you hear me?" he asked. "Can you feel me?"

She nodded.

"But I only see him." she said, her voice breaking slightly. "He's coming for me, again, isn't he?"

"It's not real, Sansa." he tried assuring her. "I'm real, I'm here, this will be over soon."

'This is just beginning for you.' Ramsay said to Sansa.

"He's going to hurt me again, Jon." she said. "Please. Please make it stop."

In addition to Jon's hands on her, she then felt the touch of Ramsay. She sobbed, terrified.

"He's not here." Jon tried again, but his own tears were causing a lump in his throat. "Just hold on to me, don't forget I'm here."

"I love you." she said, suddenly, through her tears. "Jon?"

"I'm here." he reassured her. "I'm not going to leave you, not for a moment."

"I can hear you." she said. "But I can't feel you anymore." her chin trembled.

"It's not real." he repeated, smoothing her hair. She began to cry in earnest now, and was shaking harder than he'd ever seen before.

"Don't stop talking." she sobbed. "Don't leave me, Jon."

He held his hysterical wife to his chest, and then she began to scream. He was hurting her, and there was nothing Jon could do to fight him off. He'd never felt so powerless.


	18. Chapter 18

Sansa was no longer in the Winterfell she knew. She was in the Winterfell of the past, with her tormentor. She didn't remember her life. She couldn't remember her son, not yet. Or that Jon and her had ever been reunited, or fallen in love. She only knew fear, pain, and the deep desire to die.

She stayed in the bed, Jon at her side, for nearly a whole day. 24 hours, slowly ticking by. The screams could be heard all over the castle. Her eyes rolled as she watched the scenes she was imagining. Sometimes, she'd lay still, crying softly, and other times she'd thrash against Jon, trying to fight him off, fight her nightmares away.

After the first twelve hours, the visions changed. Ramsay dissipated, but then Sansa was forced to watch the death of everyone she loved. Her father, her mother, Robb. And then the one's who weren't yet dead, killed in front of her. Slowly tortured while she was forced to watch.

When Jon heard her say his name, he felt a rush of relief, thinking she was finally coming out of it. But then, she was still looking in the distance, begging him, and then apologizing. He realized what was happening, when it was Aden's name she muttered next.

He held her closer as she cried.

Finally, finally, she began to wind down, and could only manage sleepy little hiccups towards the end. Jon was laid beside her, holding her, exhausted. He wouldn't let himself falter, not yet. He kept reminding himself she was in much more pain than he. But seeing her so tortured, so scared. Reliving the time he promised was long behind her, and he powerless to prevent that.

He realized she was asleep, and seemed to be peacefully so. He stood, and covered her with a quilt. He left the room, intending to be quick.

"It's over." he said gruffly to Brienne, who had been waiting outside the room the whole time. He had bags under his eyes, and looked almost ten years older. "Where's Aden?" he asked.

"Still with Bran." she said. "Is she sleeping?"

"Aye." he said. "And I will be too, as soon as I get Aden. I want him to be there when she wakes up."

"Of course." she said.

Jon made his way down the catwalk, towards the other end of the castle. Bran slept in the highest tower, overlooking the Godswood.

The guard outside Bran's door opened it for Jon, and Jon walked through. Aden was curled on the floor, beside the hearth, leaning on Ghost, his thumb in his mouth. He looked up, and pulled himself upright onto his chubby legs, and ran to Jon.

"I tried to get him to sleep." Bran said from the chair he sat in the corner. "But he only could for an hour or two before he was up again. He hasn't been crying, he's just been waiting."

Jon scooped up Aden, hugging him close for a long moment.

"Mama?" Aden asked him, his brows knitted together.

"She's asleep." Jon explained. "Who did this, Bran?" he turned to his brother.

"I don't know." Bran admitted. "I can't see them. I'll go down to the tree, now that you have Aden, and I'll meditate. See what I can find out."

"Thank you, Bran" Jon said.

"Mama." Aden said again, touching Jon's face.

"Aden, mama is still sick, so you mustn't wake her up when we go back to see her." Jon said softly. "Do you understand?"

Aden nodded, and Jon was sure he would behave. Jon was so tired though, Aden was getting heavy in his arms. He set him down, and called Ghost. The wolf padded over, and bumped Aden's hand, signaling Aden to hold on to his collar. Aden gripped tight, and beside his father, walked outside of Bran's rooms and down the steps towards their chamber.  
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Sansa was in a dreamless sleep, relieved from her day of torture. She knew where she was, now, home, and had caught a glimpse of Jon whispering to her, holding her to his chest, right before she fell asleep. She'd come home, she'd escaped the glimmer, and now she was safe in bed. It was over. She could sleep.

Jon and Aden entered, quietly. Aden was already showing his exhaustion, yawning, and barely dragging his feet along Ghost. The moment he saw his father, his body reminded him it was safe to sleep, and now he couldn't stop the inevitable. Jon lifted him onto the bed, tapping his lips with a finger as a reminder to be quiet. Jon turned, to seek out some nightclothes for Aden. But when he turned, Aden had undressed himself, into just his small clothes and a nappy. He crawled over the bed to the sleeping figure of his mother. He pushed the blankets beside as best he could, and settled beside his mother, curling up like a pup beside her warmth.

Jon rounded the bed, and slid in on the other side, so Sansa could be completely surrounded.

Within minutes, the three Starks were fast asleep.

Sansa awoke nose to nose with her son. She blinked, making sure she was really awake, that this was really real life, and not some dream. She smiled, happier and more relieved than she think she'd ever been in her life. Happier than seeing Jon again, happier than watching Ramsay getting eaten by dogs, happier than watching Daenerys kill white walkers with a gentle swoop of her dragon.

Happiest pressed against her son, seeing his little chest rise and fall, and his golden red curls scattered about his face and pillow. Happiest that Jon was there too, waiting for her the whole time she'd been gone.

She rolled over, moving as little as possible so not to wake either of them. She just wanted to look, to bask in their lightness, appreciate their peacefulness.

Jon sensed she was awake, and his eyes shot open.

"Sansa!" he said, in a loud whisper. "Can you see me?"

She nodded, and felt tears of relief flooding her eyes.

He pulled her into his arms, rougher than he intended, but with the amount of emotion he felt in the moment. He laughed slightly, the desperate unbelieving laugh of the truly solaced. She pressed her mouth against his shoulder, letting his skin muffle her quiet sobs. She relished the feeling of his muscles on hers, such a comfort to have his arms around her again.

"Who did this to me?" she asked after he pulled away a few minutes later.

"I don't know, Sansa." he said. "But whoever it was...whoever did it...I'll kill them myself."

She nodded, brushing away the tears on his face.

"How much do you remember?" he asked.

"All of it." she said after a long moment. "I can feel it still, in my chest and on my skin. It's aching, almost."

He smoothed her hair, and then stroked her back and waist, trying to comfort her. She shut her eyes, and whispered his name to herself. Reminding herself. This would continue constantly for months after. Her little reminders, that the person beside her was not a monster, not a nightmare, but instead the person sworn to keep her safe.

"They didn't do the thing I'm scared of the most, though." she whispered. "They didn't turn you into the monster. They don't know me well enough, apparently."

"Were you worried that might happen?"

"I was worried I'd wake up and be alone. That even if you were here, saying you were going to help me, I'd think you were a monster too. I was worried they'd take me away from you, somehow. Instead, they only made it stronger. I've never been happier to be beside you, Jon." she admitted.

Aden had awoken, and was crawling over his mother's shoulder, batting her eagerly.

"Hello, my sweet." she said, smiling, rolling so Aden was straddling her belly. Jon was balanced on his elbow, and leaned over to kiss Aden's cheek, and ruffle his hair.

"Mama tired?" Aden asked, his small brow furrowed with worries.

"I'm alright now." she reassured him. "Papa's here. And my little Aden. And we're safe at home, behind our great strong walls."

"Walls safe?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yes, darling. They keep our enemies out."

He growled for her, and she laughed.

"You'll keep our enemies out, too, wolf-boy." she giggled.

Aden turned, and looked up at the door, as though he'd heard something. He growled again, looking at the door.

Jon saw her too, for just a flash.

The Red Woman was here.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had a request for more lemon, and thus, your wish is my command. Enjoy, darlings.

The next few days were dedicated to searching the entire area around Winterfell for The Red Woman. It became apparent she wasn't anywhere close. Nobody had seen her at all since she'd left Winterfell nearby two years before.

Jon felt more helpless than ever. He didn't want to live in this home where they constantly felt fear. That with every sip they took they could be returning to that place, to that dark rabbit hole Sansa had fallen down. That with every bite of food, or walk around every blind corner, could be welcoming an early death.

Soon Jon would have the whole kingdom on the lookout for this woman, at the speed he wrote the letters to his neighboring houses, and beyond. Urging anybody, anywhere, for their advice, or some information.

It was a week later when they received a letter, stamped with House Targaryen's seal. However, it was in a hand different to Daenerys', small and slanted and heavy with ink. Jon was walking along the top ledge of Winterfell, Sansa beside him, when a guard delivered it to them.

"Lord Varys." Jon said in a surprised tone. "Said he has experience with sorcerers. There's a man, in The Reach, he's sent for. He's worked with him before, and he helped him locate a sorcerer years ago. He'll be here by the end of season."

Sansa smiled, looking relieved.

"That's just next week." she said.

"Aye, it'll be over soon."

"Thank the gods." she said, and they stopped near a ledge overlooking the rolling landscape. "I was so worried...worried this would go on forever."

"You know I would figure it out." Jon said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"That, or we'd run away to the south." she replied dryly.

"We'd do what we had to be be safe, yes." he agreed. "I'm never seeing you go through anything like that again, Sansa."

"I know." she replied softly. "I believe you."

He looked at her with scrutiny.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and she bit her lip, turning towards him.

"I wish you'd stop treating me with such delicacy." she said. "I'm...not..." she sighed in frustration, trying to find the right words. "With everything, you always seem so determined to figure it out on your own. But I want to help. I know I wasn't Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, but I'm smart, Jon."

"I know you are." he said, smiling slightly. "More understanding of politics than anyone else here."

"And I appreciate everything, I do. But I want to worry, Jon. I want to know everything that happens, and be involved. When Aden was younger, of course, I wanted to be with him...but then I realized his future was being shaped and I had nothing to say about it."

"Don't you trust me to do right by our family?" he asked, this time his voice had a hint of anger.

"Of course I do, Jon." Sansa said firmly. "That doesn't mean I don't want to be there."

He was silent for a long moment, staring out over the greenery.

"I just want us to be safe."

"We are safe, Jon." Sansa reminded him. "I mean...despite the current situation, what else do we have to worry about?"

"Everything!" he shouted, and Sansa jumped. Jon had a fire in him, that she usually only saw aimed at other people. But now the anger was sparked, and it was her that was getting burnt. "We are the head of one of the oldest and most powerful houses in Westeros. No matter what we do, who we have to help us, there will always be something, Sansa. We are not farmers, or merchants, we don't live in a small country home. We don't know safety, we never will."

Sansa blinked. His tone had been cold, condescending almost, like he was explaining an arithmetic problem to a small child. Her lips tightened, and the next moment, she stormed off, leaving him alone to brood in peace.

She wasn't surprised by this outburst, just annoyed by it. There was nothing she could do to erase the soldier from his head. Too much had happened. Like Sansa would always be a survivor, he would always be a soldier. Never putting his guard down. She thought for a moment, considering his words. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was stupid to let her guard down. To trust the world like she was allowing herself. To believe her happiness was permanent, and not something that could be snatched away in an instant.

She stopped, and felt guilty for a moment. She hadn't meant to insult him, but she realized she might have. She may have come off unappreciative, or naive. She stopped, at the head of the stairs, in a dark corner. Naivety was her biggest weakness, she knew that. But was that because she was overly trusting of the wrong people?

She felt a figure behind her, and turned. Jon was there, just a few paces beside her.

"I'm sorry." she said softly. "I'm being stupid."

"You're not stupid." he said, matter of fact.

He stepped closer to her now, and for some reason, she felt her breath hitch in excitement. She was looking at him up and down, in a way that felt quite vulgar. Where was this coming from? she wondered, although not for long.

"You know I would let you be a part of everything I do." he said. "Why are you coming at me as though I'm some traditional man who only wants you to produce children for me?"

She dipped her head down, grinning.

"Well, you do want that, to be fair." she said, and then Jon smiled as well. He was right, she knew that. Sometimes she applied ideas to Jon that were far from true.

"And there may be a day we have peace," he said, and stepped closer. "but I don't see it happening for a while."

Again, he was right. She frowned, feeling foolish.

"I'm sorry." she said again. "Maybe I'm just accustomed to feeling safe. Because you're here."

Now it was her turn to step forward. He noticed the distinct tilt of her head, then, and the way her clear blue eyes gazed at his lips. She was close, now, close enough for him to reach out and touch her face.

"I am here." he said. "For whatever you need."

"Do you know what I need?" she asked, her voice low. She was surprised at how sudden this wave of lust had come over her.

She brushed past him then, into the shadow of the roof and into the small storage alcove near the stop of the stairs. She found a heavy box, and she turned, sitting on it. She waited, sitting down coquettishly. She shook the cloak from her shoulders, letting the cool morning air wrap around her skin.

He was there the next minute, standing above her. He held her face in his hands, pushing her knees apart, so she was wrapped around him.

"Are you suggesting something?" he asked, raising a brow. "It'll be scandalous if anyone catches us up here."

She groaned, shutting her eyes. There was a way Jon's voice changed when he wanted her, it got rougher, almost, harsher, and it cut through her pelvis like a knife. She looked up at him with hooded eyes, her irises huge from the dim light and her desire.

It drove him crazy when she got like this, urgent and desperate and so passionate. He kissed her then, hungrily, pulling her closer to his chest, pressing his hardness against the space under her skirts.

In a chaotic rush, they both began loosening the garments necessary. Sansa, panting, lifted up her skirt, and shimmied, letting her pants and stockings fall onto the floorboards. Jon pulled her closer, pressing his thumb against her wetness beneath her skirt. She cried out, as Jon explored inside her. He watched her, sitting on the dirty crate, her eyes half open and her red hair spilling over her face as she moaned, dipping into her open mouth and across her full lips. He brought her to her peak easily, well practiced at it now.

He couldn't take it much longer, and he stepped back, bidding her to spread her legs with a slap to her thighs. She did, and he looked at her for a long minute, perched on the side of the box with a wicked grin on her face, waiting for him. So devilish, she was sometimes, with such a disregard for proper behavior.

When he took her, they both cried out in unison. He hiked up her knee, filling her deeper. She made noises through clenched teeth. Jon pushed her hair from her face, kissing her as he worked. She could tell he wasn't going to last long, and sure enough, a moment later, with his mouth still on hers, he finally broke with a shout. She reached for his hips, assuring he was deep inside her as he released.

His muscles relaxed all at the same time, and he slumped into her, a hand on her back.

"Gods." he muttered into her ear, and she smiled. "We have to fight more often."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys don't mind the bit of a timeline leap. I had an idea, and I wanted to see it through. Thanks for the continual support, and your kind comments below which TRULY push me to keep going. Thank you all <3 
> 
> -Shiloh

3 years later

The North was hardly recognizable to it's people anymore. While still freezing in the winters, seasons were a regular and yearly occurrence. Complete thaws, an abundance of farming land in the warm months, children growing up to be taller, stronger, and happier.

After Varys' friend had visited, The Red Woman had been located, in the form of a very old woman, in the next town closest to Winterfell. Davos insisted she be burned alive, as full repayment for her crimes against Princess Shireen. Even Jon had been inclined to agree; but Sansa refused, saying that the Starks would never flay a prisoner like a Bolton, that never would a body be burned alive on the grounds of her home again.

Melisandre was beheaded. And for the moment, that put peace to it.

For the next three years, times remained semi-peaceful for Winterfell. Sansa had another child, a girl, a year later, and named her Kyria. She was dark haired, curls, like her father, and Sansa's blue eyes.

Aden was nearly 5, and already standing to Sansa's hip. He loved playing with swords and wrestling with Ghost, but also loved tending the garden with his mother. There was the same gentleness in his soul as Sansa saw in Jon's, and this brought her comfort. His Aunt Daenerys already doted on him, and sent him the finest pure white steed, raised by the Dothraki that stayed behind after her successful reclamation of the crown.

Kyria was viciously shy, and usually followed her mother or father around by their cloaktails, so she would have somewhere to hide behind if a stranger approached. But she was brilliant, reading aloud easy words already. She was also incredibly fond of her uncle, and would usually be found in his chambers, listening to him tell stories of the history of Westeros.

Arya was prone to travel, usually going away for long stretches of time, with a close few friends. She'd come back with wild stories of debauchery, and new tattoos, curling up her arms now. Arya had gotten much taller, and now was eye level with Sansa. She was lean as well, and as flexible as a cat. She'd let her hair grow, and usually had it in a high slick ponytail, a trend she'd grown fond of in an expedition to Dorne.

The family went on happily, feasts every few months, settling quarrels between bickering houses, even making a diplomacy trip to Kings Landing for a time.

Sansa was with child again, but it was still early. Sansa was aging gracefully, the only notable change was that she seemed to get more beautiful. Her hair was deepening in color, although it was still a dark golden red. Jon noticed she resembled Catelyn more often now, particularly when she was angry. And Jon was aging too, and usually kept his dark curls cut shorter now. His dark hair had lightened some, with streaks of grey growing in at the sides of his temples, and speckled in his beard, which Sansa adored.

Together, they'd blossomed, both becoming fastidious, wise, and competent rulers.

It was evening, near the end of fall, with icy winds just beginning to permeate the golden leaved trees, and frost found around the edges of puddles in the morning. Sansa was walking through the muddy courtyard, with Kyria holding her hand, stumbling along beside her. Kyria had a deep blue dress on, with a white cloak around her small shoulders. Her hair hung in ringlets, that bounced lightly as she walked.

"A raven!" a steward called. "And urgent raven, m'lady!" he was running across the courtyard towards Sansa. Kyria dipped behind the long tail of her mother's forest green skirts. She peeked out from behind it, as Sansa tore open the envelope. The envelope fell, and Kyria picked it up. She didn't recognize the seal. It was some sort of lizard, she thought perhaps, with rows of sharp teeth.

Kyria heard her mother say a word she'd never heard before. The kind of word Papa would get a smack for when he said it at dinner. Then, Sansa had scooped up Kyria, and was moving fast towards the great hall.

"Jon!" she called, as she pushed through the double doors. She didn't know what direction he might be in. "Jon?" she called again, whipping around towards the long hallways on either side of her.

"Sansa?" a voice replied, and Jon stepped from the library door in the hallway to the right. She ran to him, Kyria hanging onto her shoulder to sturdy herself.

She tried to catch her breath, and started to read the letter out herself.

"Lady and Lord Stark,

I write to regretfully tell you of my husband's course of actions, and I hope to beg forgiveness and mercy for him, as he is not of his right mind. A healer stopped by 3 years past, to help with Howland, and see if he could be cured. She gave him an elixir...I worry it could have been blood magic. Since that, he's been different. Better, in some way, with his memory returning, but darker, in other ways.-"

Jon stopped her, taking the letter from her hands. He scanned it.

"She did this." he said after finishing it. He read the rest aloud, where Sansa had left off.

"He finally decided, and he's written every house in Westeros with the evidence of Jon's true parentage, and insisting to turn against you, and revolt. A group of rebels in the North plan an uprising to take Winterfell to ensure that Bran be the head of house, and that you'll be hung for falsification of documents. That you are merely a Targaryen puppet, and act only on behalf of what the Queen wants. He knew of your relation to the queen, and that you're of Targaryen blood, not of Stark. Please believe me when I say this isn't Howland, but instead the dark magic...he was loyal to Ned Stark, as is all of House Reed, and would be until his dying day-"

He crushed the letter in his fist.

"We have to go, Jon." Sansa whispered. "They mean to kill you."

"Sansa." he said, and she was surprised to see him smiling. "Howland Reed is known to be out of his head, a madman. Do you believe any of our houses would believe a letter from a distant and forgotten house? He was well known, and so everyone knew when his brain went."

"Jon-" her voice breaking, desperate. "They could be our own men, we have no way-"

"I'll double guard patrol on the outer grounds-"

"Jon!" she shouted. Kyria's face fell, and she began to whimper. Sansa had nearly forgotten she was holding Kyria, and turned in surprise. She gathered her daughter's hands in one of hers, kissing them, giving her a warm smile. "It's nothing, darling, nothing to be worried about my sweet girl."

Kyria nodded, but still looked confused as she laid her head on Sansa's shoulder, looking at her father.

"We'll see if anyone had heard anything." Jon assured her. "But think, Sansa, really. House Reed is further from here than nearly any other house he could have written. You don't think correspondence from House Cailin, White Harbor, or Stony Shore would have arrived sooner? You don't think they, if they thought it important at all, would write and question us?"

Sansa considered this, and then felt tremendously better. He was right, of course. Unless Jyana Reed had procured a raven that flew twice as fast as other birds, there wasn't any way any house had noticed the claim.

Kyria reached for her father, as soon as she realized they weren't upset anymore. He smiled, taking her in his arms. He tugged at one of her curls, letting it bounce as he released it. She reached up for a stray curl on his forehead, and did the same. Jon loved both his children more than anything, but he had an extra soft spot for his daughter.

"How is my little northern princess today?" he asked, and she smiled brightly, hiding her face in his neck. Sansa, watching this, nearly lost herself in the moment, and forgot what she'd come in for.

"Aden?" he asked.

"He's still in lessons." Sansa said. "I was on my way to relieve him. We were going to go to the greenhouse garden, together, like we usually do when he's finished with tutoring."

"Can't I accompany you?" he asked.

"You'd have to ask Aden. The last time you went in their, you squished his blackberries."

"Yes, well, they're very low to the ground.

"They're his favorite." Sansa said. "He told me that if the walls of Winterfell belong to you, then the walls of the greenhouse belong to him."

Jon laughed, and was pleased to see Kyria grinning a little too.

"I'll leave you to it, then." he said, about to hand Kyria back to Sansa. "Please don't worry, Sansa. I'll have the maester send out letters addressing Reed's claim."

Kyria cried out in protest as Sansa reached for her. Sansa smiled.

"Keep her. I'll see you at dinner." she said. She leaned forward, kissing his cheek, relishing the familiar smell of him. She kissed Kyria too, on the nose lightly.

"C'mon then." Jon said to Kyria once Sansa was gone. He set her on the ground, and she took his hand. They walked, side by side, back to the library. "I was just looking up a record of grain trades between The Rills and The Flint Cliff. Truly fascinating stuff."

Kyria walked along the rows of books, pressing her fingers against the spines, or tapping the tags of scrolls. She hummed as she waited, not paying attention to her father reading through a slim black book above her. She investigated the runes on the base of a book near her, pressing her small fingernail into the indentation. Jon glanced down at his daughter, and smiled at her wrinkled nose as she thought.

"Daddy is a dragon, not wolf?" she finally asked. Jon nearly dropped the book he was holding. He looked down at her, and then knelt to her level. He was regularly surprised at her intelligence, but the fact she understood the relevance of his parentage in the discussion he'd just had with her mother, but this had been the most astonishing so far.

"Darling, where do you get that idea?" he asked her.

"You and mama. Said that Lady Dany and you're...like..." she looked up, searching for the correct word in her small mental dictionary. "You are like sisters."

"Kyria." Jon said slowly. "You can't tell anyone about this, do you understand? Sweetheart?"

Her eyes widened in fear, and she nodded.

"Big secret." she said.

"Aye, my little girl. Not forever, I promise. I am a wolf, Kyria, as are you."

"Direwolf." she corrected, and he smiled. He kissed her nose, and then cheek, and scooped her up onto his shoulders. She laughed, looking over the sea of bookshelves below her.


	21. Chapter 21

There was nothing, Sansa decided, worse, than waking up to the sound of screaming. Not the sort of screaming a mother might think of, the kind that bids her answer the baby's call for food. Instead, screaming for life. Screaming in terror.

It happened very suddenly, the screaming, and then a great crash of wood.

Sansa and Jon both woke with a start. There was chaos beyond their closed door, they could hear it getting louder. The crash of swords, yelling, and the clattering of feet on wood.

"The children." Jon said to Sansa, pointing at the door to their right, where there was a hall that led right to Aden and Kyria's nursery.

She ran, around the bed and down the hall. She shoved open the far door, to see Kyria standing in her bassinet, screaming. She hurried to her, scooping her off the bed, holding her.

"Mama!" she heard Aden's cry from the other side of the bedroom. She didn't see him as she looked around desperately.

"Aden, where are you?"

He cried for her again, and she saw a small hand waving from underneath the bed.

She dashed to him, and sunk to her knees, holding Kyria steady.

"Darling, I'm so sorry, we need to go." she urged him, leaning beneath the bed, reaching with her other arm.

"Momma, no, we can't." he cried.

Suddenly, another arm reached beneath the bed, and pulled Aden by his elbow out into the light.

"Look at me." Jon said, pulling Aden up, steadying him. "We cannot be craven today, Lord Stark." he said to his son, his hands on his shoulders. "What do Starks do? Are we cowards? Or do we fight?"

"Jon-" Sansa began, but then looked at her son. He was steely faced, determined, and she realized then how much he would grow exactly to look like his father.

"We are wolves." Aden said.

"That's right, son." Jon said. "Get dressed, now, in your warmest riding clothes, do you understand?"

"Aye." Aden said softly. Then he scrambled to his wardrobe.

Sansa took Jon's hand, looking at him desperately.

"I have men readying our horses. There's a raid on the gates, and they're holding them off for now, but it might not be long. We need to go, as fast as we can."

"Bran?" Sansa asked. Jon thought for a minute, and knew he was too far to get to from their side of the castle.

"They won't hurt him." Jon decided. "He's the pure son of Ned Stark, they really can't argue that at all. Pack some things, whatever you can fit in a rucksack."

"Jon-" Sansa's voice was breaking. She was pleading with him.

"They've set the castle on fire." Jon finally said. Sansa froze. "We need to go."

"We need to go." she agreed. He stood, pulling her up to her feet. Aden was tugging on his boots, still shirtless. Sansa crossed the room, digging a bag out of a trunk, and then gathering with her free hand as many clothes of Kyria's she could fit in it. Back in their room, Jon was filling a pack with clothes for him and Sansa.

"Are you nearly ready?" Brienne asked, dropping her usual propriety.

"Sansa is just getting the children dressed." he said, and then remembered Sansa still needed to change. He grabbed a pair of her fur-lined riding pants, and a tight jacket to go over. Then a black cloak, and he bent, digging her boots from out underneath the bed. He put all of these in a pile at the end of the bed.

"Are they fitting the horses with bedrolls? And rations to last us...for a while, I suppose?"

"Aye." she said. "Lord Davos insists on coming."

"Of course." he waved at her. "Anyone who has close allegiance to me or my family should come. They might all be at risk. Strickland, maybe, and Owen and Niclas."

"Yes." she said. Sansa ran into the room, Kyria still in her arms, Aden standing, dressed, beside her.

"Clothes?" she asked, pointing at the pile he'd arranged. Jon nodded, and took Kyria from her to let her change. It was rare to see his wife in just pants, he realized, and he thought for a moment how shapely her legs looked.

When she was dressed, she took Kyria back, set her standing on the bed in front of her. She dipped into the bag and found a thick woolen cloak for Kyria, which she secured around her neck. She tapped the bed, signaling to her daughter to sit on her bottom. She tugged on the plush sheepskin boots Kyria had, and laced them tight. Finally, she tugged on a small rabbit fur cap, which contrasted with her dark hair.

"Aden will take Champion, but Kyria will ride with you." Jon said.

"Are you sure he can ride alone?" Sansa asked, stopping what she was doing in surprise.

"I'll be beside him the whole time." he said earnestly, and Sansa believed him. She tied up the bags, and tossed them to Brienne, who was loading them into the arms of some horrified looking stewards. Finally, she secured her cloak, and secured Kyria to her hips. Lastly, she took the knife in the holster she kept next to her bed. She attached it to her belt, and reached for Jon.

From his belt, he unsheathed Longclaw, and Brienne nodded.

"Stay close." she said. "I'll take up the rear."

Aden reached for his mother, and she took his hand. She gave him a small reassuring smile.

They moved quickly down the hallway, and down a small side staircase. The night air reeked of smoke, and Sansa looked up in horror to see a turret across the way engulfed in flame.

"Bran!" she screamed, realizing where it was.

"He's fine." Jon shouted behind his shoulder, over the clashing metal below. "Ghost has him, is pulling him to the maester."

Sansa sighed, gasping in relief.

They shuffled down the staircase, pressed against the cool stone of the wall beside them. Sansa mapped out where they were heading, through another hallway, down past the ballroom, out the back way to the stables. It wouldn't take more than a minute. They rounded a corner, and there was a loud whoosh of air as a flaming arrow whizzed past Sansa's ear and embedded itself in a pillar behind her. She dropped to the ground, and realized Jon had done the same in front of her. He looked up, trying to spot the archer. They were hidden behind a wall, crouching.

"When I say run, run." He said, turning around to Sansa. "Run, to the stables, don't wait more than 2 minutes for me, understand?"

"Jon-" she said, tears in her eyes.

"I'll be right behind you, Sansa." he said. "I swear."

She nodded.

"Keep your mother and sister safe." he said, looking to Aden. Aden clenched his jaw, and nodded firmly.

He moved quickly, and Sansa jumped as she heard the clatter of metal against metal. They all listened in silence for a second, and then she heard Jon's voice, out of breath and hoarse.

"Run!" he shouted. She took Aden's hand, and pulled him up.

They ducked around the corner, and into another poorly lit hallway. But Sansa grew up here, and spent many years playing hide and seek in these very halls. In the pitch black, she rushed down the long hallway, where she knew a wooden door was on the right, leading right outside the walls.

Sure enough, she felt her palm hit rough wood, and she grabbed the handle and shoved.

The night seemed colder outside, and Sansa checked behind her. Brienne was still there. Sansa saw the stables, a good hundred meters away.

"Run." she whispered. They all scrambled down the grassy hill, towards the stables. Sansa could see the glow of Champion, Aden's horse, in the moonlight.

They reached the horses, panting. A few guards began helping Aden onto his, and Brienne secured to hers. Sansa's horse was saddled, but she waited beside it, watching the door at the back of the castle, tense. Kyria was crying softly, and Sansa hushed her as well as she could.

She pulled from one of the saddlebags the wrap she'd brought for her daughter. Not keeping her eyes off the door, she tied Kyria to her chest, with the wrap that most mothers used to carry their infant.

As the clock ticked down, Sansa became more and more terrified. And then finally, the figure of Jon, Ghost at his side. Sansa climbed up to her horse, and took Stranger, Jon's horse, by the bridle.

She handed Stranger to Jon as he arrived.

"They have riders too." he gasped. "We need to go, now."

Sansa nodded. She turned to Aden, angling her horse so she was beside him.

"You know how mama and papa say you can't ride fast, not like you want to?" she asked him. He nodded. "I want you to ride that fast, and faster, okay, darling?"

"Okay." he said.

"And stay right next to your father. We'll be just behind you."

"We ride for the Iron Islands." Jon said to the small group of mounted guards. Sansa was taken aback, but realized she didn't have time to worry about that right now.

They broke into the night, tearing into the damp earth, and up the hill, away from their home.


	22. Chapter 22

The rebel's riders were close behind them, close enough to hear their hooves breaking ground in a thundering applause. Sansa clutched her reins, urging on Della, her dappled black and red mare. Ahead of her, she could see in the moonlight the backs of Aden and Jon's horses, as close as Jon could get them to ride without tripping them up. Brienne was to her right, riding just as furiously, her face grimaced.

Nearly half a mile from the castle, she heard a huge explosion. She screamed, glancing over her shoulder to see the largest circular turret crumbling.

Ahead of her, Aden's horse had startled. It broke into a dead run, tearing away from Jon. Jon froze momentarily, and then leaned forward. He dug his heels into the sides of the horse, urging it forward, faster.

Sansa looked around again, and saw in horror that Aden was suddenly much further than anyone else in their party.

Then beside her, Ghost streaked past. She urged the horse faster with an desperate tightening of her stirrups.

Jon watched Ghost pass him too, heading towards Champion and Aden. He swore, knowing Ghost might only succeed in startling the horse further, causing him to throw Aden, instead of just taking him along for the ride. He tried to call to Ghost, but the normally obedient wolf ignored him, narrowing it's eyes on Aden.

Aden clutched onto the horse desperately, as hard as his little hands would allow. He shut his eyes, trying just to focus on the movement of Champion beneath him.

Jon was gaining on him, nearly to Champion's tail now. He called his son's name, trying to get him to turn.

Then, Champion whinnied, loud and desperate, and bucked his neck. Aden loosened, and despite Jon nearly reaching him, he fell to the opposite side of the horse. Immediately, Champion slowed. Before he could process what had happened, he was way past Champion.

He made a strangled noise, a combination of anguish and terror, and turned the horse round, slowing it.

When he looked back, Ghost hadn't stopped running, and instead was still heading in the same direction.

And on his back, Jon realized, was Aden, clutching onto Ghost's thick white withers for dear life.

Jon cried out again, a victorious shout of appreciation for his wolf. Ghost slowed as he approached Jon. Jon reached down, just slightly, and lifted Aden onto his horse, between his chest and Stranger's neck. Aden was shaking, and clutched onto Stranger's mane, his little fists trembling.

"Breathe, Aden." Jon said, smoothing his son's hair.

Sansa rode up then, her face a mess of tears.

"The riders turned back." she said. "To attend to the fire, I expect."

The rest of their men approached them now, slowing as well.

"Are you alright, Aden?" Sansa asked, nearing him, taking his face in a free hand. She met his eyes. They were scared, a little, but fiery and determined.

"They're burning our home." he said, pointing at the castle in the distance.

"Uncle Bran won't let them." Jon said. "He's the Lord of Winterfell now."

"Not papa?" Aden asked, his face falling.

"No." Jon said simply, glaring at the fire in the distance. "Not me."  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Why the Iron Islands?" Sansa finally had the chance to demand of Jon as they made camp in a hidden clearing, right before dawn.

"Because Theon has a loyalty to you." he said simply. "You saved him, Sansa. And Yara is a friend of the Queen's. That's the safest and closest place, before we go to King's Landing."

"King's Landing?" she asked. "That's another month past the Iron Islands. What about Bran? Or Arya, how will she know?

"If she returns to Winterfell, she won't be harmed. The rebels rose against me, and maybe you. But mostly me." Jon said. "Stark children will be safe."

Sansa followed Jon into the tent, ducking slightly. She couldn't even stand up straight, so she settled for settling on a pile of blankets ontop of a bed roll. Kyria was still on her hip, although she'd been un-secured. She whined, yanking at her mother's blouse. Sansa weened her a couple months before, but when she was particularily upset, Sansa allowed her, and luckily, it had been frequent enough to where she still had milk.

She loosened her top, unbound the linen tightly wound around her chest, and let a breast fall out. Kyria settled in her lap, curling up like an infant. Sansa let her hair fall, creating a small cover for her daughter. Aden scurried in a moment later, Ghost peeking in behind him, and then settling down just outside the tent door. Aden went to the corner, and found a heavy wool blanket to wrap himself in. He pulled it over to his mother, and settled down beside her, resting his head on her leg.

Sansa took a deep breath, looking down at her children. She thought vaguely of the small bump beneath her pants. A child, she realized, she could lose like she did the Bolton child.

Jon realized her thoughts, as she had absentmindedly brushed her fingers over her abdomen.

"Oh gods, Sansa." Jon said, remembering. "You shouldn't even be on horseback."

"There's no time for worries like that." she said, her voice firm. "What do you suggest, turning round for a carriage? I feel fine, and we have no other option for me other than to ride."

He looked defeated.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her.

"I should eat something." she admitted. "Aden too."

"I'll be back." Jon said.

Outside, the men had started a fire, and were making a iron pot of hunted rabbit and potatoes. There was also a heavy pot of boiling water, which people were mixing into tea leaves. Jon did this, into a heavy pewter mug, with a dash of Pear Brandy borrowed from one of his men. He'd fixed up a heavy bowl for Sansa and Aden to share. He'd eat later, once they fell asleep soundly.

He returned to the tent, passing Sansa the bowl of stew. She took a sip, relishing it's warmth. She handed the bowl to Aden, who sat up to drink it.

Jon handed her the tea next, and she took a whiff.

"Is this how you like it, or how I like it?"

"Barely a splash, so how you like it. I'll get more later, to sleep."

She took a sip, and relished the familiarity of the tea.

"I have to go talk to the men, and see what happened." he said. "A small group of raiders shouldn't have broken into the castle without more preparation, unless..." he trailed off.

"Someone let them in." Sansa said, her voice laced with anger.

"Aye."

"I'll come out, too, when they're asleep." she said, and he nodded.

She took another sip of the bowl Aden held. Jon crawled out of the tent.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was apparent, Jon's call to order stronger outside patrol in response to the Reed letter, had only made the inside more vulnerable. With all the extra men a good length away from the castle, someone inside, a rogue guard or steward, had the gates lowered, and the small group of raiders were easily able to take over the men inside. It was put to an end, as soon as the perimeter guards heard of it, but not before they were able to set the castle ablaze.

He discussed this with the men, over the fire, talking in low voices with cups of brandy in their hands. Jon ate, and was soon joined by Sansa. The dawn was only just beginning to break in the distance, the first glimpses of day light just appearing over the far hills.

She took the cup of brandy from Jon's hands without a word, and finished it. She shivered. He looked at her, surprised.

"You alright?" he asked, and she nodded.

"I will be." she said. "Once we have walls around us again. I feel more...exposed than I like to."

"I know what you mean." he said, laughing slightly, thinking of the wall. Even the enormous walls of Winterfell had felt like a chicken fence in the first few weeks of being back. She smiled back at him, grimly.

"Theon'll be excited to see you." she commented. "It's been a while."

"And Yara will be thrilled to see you." he said, his tone ironic. She sighed.

"She always is."


	23. Chapter 23

Sansa shivered. She didn't mind the cold, but this damp cold had an eeriness to it that shook her to her very core.

"Of course, you can all stay as long as you need. But if you'd like to get to King's Landing sooner, Yara is making a trip there in a weeks time, and you can accompany her." Theon said. He was calm, sitting across from Jon and Sansa in the main hall. Theon, these days, talked very low and calm, and even smiled occasionally. But he was nothing like the Theon either of them grew up with. Loud and boisterous, always fighting or talking about girls. Now he spoke and politely and soothingly as a maester.

"That sounds perfect." Jon said.

"Well," Theon leaned back, looking satisfied. "is it true?" he arched an eyebrow. And for a moment, Jon saw the old Theon coming through, with his hint of mischievous curiosity.

Jon glanced at Sansa, for approval. Sansa gave Theon a long look, and then nodded at Jon, once.

"Yes." Jon said. "But perhaps...don't tell anyone, until we see the Queen."

"No." Theon said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't."

"Thank you." Sansa said. She leaned forward, taking his hand across the table, squeezing it earnestly. "Thank you so much, Theon."

He grinned, locking eyes with her.

"I know it's not the most welcoming place." he said, pulling away, motioning at the damp walls and the distant crash of the sea. "But to be fair, neither is Winterfell."

Sansa and Jon both grinned in unison, thinking how welcoming Winterfell might be just then.

After their meeting with Theon, Jon and Sansa bid him leave to retire in a warm bed, and beside a proper hearth.

Traveling had been harder than they anticipated. Whether it was the case that they had been accustomed to their comfortable life, or the fact that they had left in such a rush - either way, it had been a challenged. They were now both several shades darker, from riding in the sun. Sansa's stomach was beginning to show, although still not enough she couldn't hide beneath her dresses. Which, she realized dismally, she would be without in Kings Landing. Perhaps she could write to a dressmaker there in the city, and assure she would look dignified for the court.

She dreaded returning to that castle, she realized. When they first visited, court hadn't been reestablished since the fall of Cersei, but she knew now that many of the old families would be back. Some of those same faces she'd seen with Joffery, and then Tyrion. When she was a prisoner, there. Those same faces that stood idly by.

She looked over at Jon, who was shedding his boots and coat near the fire. Theon had sent a maid to care for Kyria and Aden, who were sleeping now, soundly, in the room adjacent. Her years of torment were long behind her, and she'd return to that court with her head held high.

Yara, who'd seen them earlier, in passing, had sent a trunk full of clothes for the pair of them, washed and dry, as opposed to the clothes they'd been traveling in.

Sansa crossed the room, and unlatched it. Ontop were some simple linen gowns, for sleeping, a shirt and a dress. Other necceseties, like socks, stockings, smallclothes. Below that were riding pants, sweaters, cloaks. Handsome pieces, Sansa realized, as nice as the things they had back home. She wondered, as she pieced through the clothes, if she assumed Ironborn might be in rags.

She lifted another garment away and was surprised to find dresses, in silk, linen, velvet, and wool, all folded neatly at the bottom.

"Yara doesn't wear these." she said, aloud, and held up a flowing green dress with a plunging neckline.

"Her friends, do, though." Jon said with a knowing smile. Yara was still a bachelorette, and had a rotating line of women from Dorne or Kings Landing usually accompanying her on her travels.

"Ahh." Sansa said. She set the dress back down, and stood, taking a linen shift off the top for herself, and a shirt for Jon.

She walked to the fire, where Jon stood, leaning on the mantel and staring in. She began unbuckling his vest, from the side.

"You can breathe now, Jon." she said, reassuringly. As the vest came off, she lingered her hand on his ribs. She set her chin on his shoulder. "I'll wait."

He laughed, and theatrically filled his lungs with air, so his ribs moved.

"Thank you." she said. He turned, but she didn't move her hand, instead let it lower, and settled on his hip.

"I hear lovely things about the bath down the hall." he said. "As big as a garden fountain, the one's from High Garden, y'know, that stretch for miles and have exotic fish and the like."

"You're lying." she said.

"I am." he admitted. "But it is big enough for two, and a hot bath with you right now, sounds like heaven."

The week on Pike was enough, Sansa thought, for a lifetime. She wasn't stranger to the harshness of weather, but this particular brand she detested. It was damp, as cold as it could be without freezing, and the air usually smelled like smoke due to the wet wood that filled the hearths. The castle itself was dark, hardly any windows.

On the morning of the departure, Sansa waited on the dock as the rest of her family boarded, beside Theon.

"Are you happy here?" Sansa asked, looking at him carefully.

"I'm home." he said with a small smile. "Are you not happy at Winterfell?"

"I'm not at Winterfell." she frowned. "I'm not sure I'll be welcome there again."

"You shouldn't worry about that." Theon said, shaking his head. "I didn't think it either."

"And here you are now." she said with a grin.

"Here I am now." he sighed, looking over the grey sea. "Remember who you are, Sansa. Who you are matters. Even with Jon...you know where your home is, Sansa." he assured her. She smiled in a small way.

She gave him a quick hug and kiss of the cheek, and then lifted her skirts, walking across the bridge to the ship.

She watched Theon get smaller on the dock, as the ship pulled away.

"I must admit, I never get tired of that view." a voice said from behind her. She turned, and saw Yara approaching her.

"It's magnificent." Sansa said, admitting that it was true. From a distance, the castle was impressive.

"Yes." Yara continued, settling beside Sansa and looking back at her home. "That's exactly what I was talking about." she purred, speaking with a strong sense of irony.

Sansa ignored this, but smiled slightly.

"Are you ready to return to our impressive capital?" Yara asked her. Sansa looked down.

"I'm not sure." Sansa said. "It's been a while since I've been to the city."

"The streets are lively and the queen is beloved. It's a joyous place." Yara assured her. "I'm sure, despite the circumstances, you'll end up enjoying yourself."

"Despite the circumstances?"

"Aye." Yara said again. "You may be a queen, Sansa, but so am I. And I allow myself to enjoy it."

"Enjoy the city or enjoy being queen?"

"Why can't you do both?" Yara asked. "Court is extremely diverting. Southerners are rich, drunken, and terribly self-important. But that doesn't mean they're not a good distraction."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys! Quick note because I'm tired of hearing about it - I didn't name J/S's kids after every dead character on the show because I think it's really overdone and expected. I also feel like (in my characterization of the characters) they would want any children to have their own identity and journey, as opposed to the name of a dead character for nostalgia sake. However - both named are GoT canon, Aden is a Stark name (you can look up the family tree) and Kyria is a mashup I derived from Westerosi characters (Arya/Nymeria) and I didn't really think it sounded to un-canon myself.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all SO much for your continued support and comments. It's been such an incredible time, and I'm loving having this project to work on. I appreciate you all every day, and every notification for kudos or a comment THRILLS ME TO TO MY VERY CORE. Seven blessings to all of you my angels xxx

"Every time I come here..." Jon said, looking up the high ceilings of the bedchamber they shared. "I realize why there's so many cliches about Northerners."

"Why?" Sansa asked, not looking up from the trunk she was looking through.

"We're so simple in comparison."

"Do you want us to have some stained glass put up when we return?" Sansa asked. "Or perhaps some diamond chandeliers?" She smiled at her own joke, and grabbed at the dress she'd found at the bottom of the trunk Yara had given her. She was already growing hot in the thick fabric of the travelling dress she'd been wearing.

"It's just...so different." Jon said, marveling at the gardens below the window. "I don't like it." he finally decided.

"Well, you might have to get used to it." she sighed. "Will you help me with this?" she asked, crossing to him and turning around.

"You know you could have a maid do this." he said, helping her loosen her bodice.

"I don't do that at home." she said. "And are you saying you don't enjoy it?" she asked as she felt a thumb running down the curve of her spine.

"I'm not saying that." he said, turning her round as the rest of the dress slid to the floor. She rolled her eyes, stepping out of it and bending to scoop it up.

She went to the vanity, looking at her face. Her hair was loose, wild around her face, and she hadn't painted her face since the last feast they'd had, ages ago.

"What a lady I am." she sighed, sitting on the stool. She found a drawer to be outfitted with some powders and paints, brushes and combs.

"What are you doing?" Jon asked, and she looked up, as he appeared in the mirror behind her.

"Blending in." she sighed.

He looked at her in the mirror, at the curves of her face and the subtle glow of her skin. He hair fell in it's usual waves down her bare back, and tumbled over her chest like spilt wine. He used the back of his hand to brush away some of it from her neck, and kissed her there. She looked up, and her blue eyes were shining at him, a smile behind them.

"That's impossible." he whispered, sending chills down her spine.

"We don't have time." she chastised. "We're expected in the throne room in half an hour."

"Sounds like time to me." he said, his hand sliding around to the top of her thighs, and dipping between them. She let her eyes flutter closed, and tried to focus on him instead of the nerves in her chest.

"I have to get ready." she whined, and Jon squeezed her leg, and stood up straighter.

"Then I'll bid you leave." he said. "And go get dressed in some dandy southern outfit."

She giggled, looking back at him for a moment as he opened the wardrobe. She was glad for his presence.

She braided her hair, deftly and practiced, in an intricate winding pattern, away from her face and down the center of her back. She'd painted her face, only a little, to cover up the stress from the past few weeks. The dress she chose was deep forest green, with a heavily embroidered bodice that caught the light. It plunged low, and her chest was full, but her waist still narrow. She stood, turning towards Jon, who waited at the table on the balcony, sipping out of a goblet.

"Gods." he said. "Well, you're not going to blend in." he said, standing. He went to the door, opening it. Ghost stood as well, from his corner in the room. He whined impatiently, hurrying over to Jon and nuzzling his hand.

"C'mon, we'll bring him." he said to Sansa. She gave him an incredulous look. "They already think we're wild enough." he said.

She allowed herself a smirk.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she asked. "Scaring them?"

He shrugged.

"We have no reason to hide who we are." he said.

She considered this, and then nodded. He was right.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Court had already started when they arrived, and people were milling about in the throne room. Sansa stood before the double doors, looking up at them. She was chewing on her bottom lip, thinking about the humiliation she'd faced in the room before. She felt a rush of emotion as she recalled her 14 year old self, stripped and beaten, laying on the floor before the throne, Joffery smiling down at her.

"Sansa." Jon said, taking her hand, squeezing it. He pulled her back into reality.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Are you?" he echoed.

Ghost bumped his head into her side, and she looked down. She buried her hand in his thick fur, and stuck a finger underneath his collar.

"Yes." she said, meaning it.

The doors swung open, and the room which had once been buzzing with conversation, fell silent. Sansa straightened her chin, keeping her eyes focused on the throne. Jon hardened his jaw, feeling protective and prideful, but also somehow self conscious and out of place.

The pair walked through the crowd, as it parted generously, mostly due to Ghost. Sansa thought she recognized some faces, and was glad to see the expressions of the court as admiring, or even intimidated. She saw some ladies eyes lingering on Jon with raised brows, and this brought a satisfied grin to her face. They settled in the front, to the right of the Throne. Jon rounded his wolf, and settled beside his wife. He leaned into her.

"Was it always like this?" he asked in a low voice.

"Worse." she said.

The conversation re-ignited after a moment, and Sansa felt the pressure lessen.

"Big entrance." A voice said behind them. Yara pushed through the crowd, and smacked Jon on the shoulder. "I usually just go in through the side door."

"The side door." Sansa said, remembering.

"No, no, it was good." Yara said. "I think you scared all these fancy ladies as much as Queen Daenerys does."

Sansa laughed. Yara patted Ghost on the head.

There was another hush of silence as the doors behind the throne were opened, and Dany appeared in a blue and white dress. She descended the steps, greeting the row of other visiting dignitaries or politicians. When she reached Jon and Sansa, she smiled widely.

"I'm glad you made it safely." she said earnestly. "We'll resolve this, I assure you. Your home will be returned to you."

She bent, putting Ghost's face in her hands, scratching his ears.

"And such a handsome fearsome thing you brought with you." she said. Ghost's tail thumped in eagerness.

"He reminds us of our priorities." Sansa said.

"I know what you mean." Dany agreed. "We'll meet after court, in the small council chambers. To discuss everything." she added. Jon and Sansa both nodded, and Daenerys moved onto the next courtiers.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you being serious?" Sansa demanded, leaning over the gleaming table, looking at Daenerys.

"Sansa-" Jon began, but she held her hand up.

"Your suggestion is coming out with the truth?" She asked again. Dany didn't move for a moment.

The trio sat in the small council room, only with Daenerys' hand, Tyrion to weigh in on the conversation.

"As opposed to denying it, cleaning up the mess, and then eventually having to go back and tear it open all over again? We'd appear liars." Tyrion said reasonably.

"We'd appear to be doing what we need to, which is protecting my..." Sansa began and then trailed off, staring at a wall with a far away look in her eyes. After a moment, she spoke again.

"We need to protect the heir. It'll be different when he's older, and can fully understand the weight of his duty. Strong enough to protect himself. I mean...he still has trouble combing his own hair." she looked at Jon, desperate for support.

"She's right." Jon said. "Not to mention...it might strengthen the rebel's case."

"How so?" Dany asked, leaning forward.

"All respect intended, but the Northerners are loyal to one house, and one house only." Jon said. "If they find out I'm a Targaryen...there could be significant unrest."

"They accepted you as a bastard." Daenerys said. "They'll accept you as a Targaryen."

"You didn't know." Dany said. "You weren't misleading anyone."

"But-" Jon began, but she raised her hand, silencing him.

"They don't know you knew. The Northern houses are still loyal to you, it is this group of rebels, not your bannermen, that wish to tear you down." she reminded him. "In the time you were travelling we received many a raven inquiring about your well being."

Jon looked at Sansa. This was news to both of them.

"Your son could finally unite the North to the throne." Dany continued. "Yes, he is Targaryen, but he is also a Stark. And the Stark house and line would be prominent in King's Landing. The house they are sworn to."

"Aden would still be too vulnerable." Sansa insisted. "Any usurper, or person who wishes you any ill will...surely seek him out."

"Not if he's here." she said. "In the Red Keep."

Sansa was struck silent by this suggestion. She looked at Jon, who looked just as stunned. Daenerys stood, smiling slightly, having achieved the affect she wanted.

"Consider it, while you're here." she said. "Of course, he can also return home with you, to Winterfell...but if you're concerned for his well being."

Sansa's eyes narrowed. She looked at Tyrion.

"Sansa." Tyrion said. "I can understand your concern."

"Oh, so you do remember my time here?" Sansa snapped, her voice cold.

"To think Queen Daenerys wouldn't see to his supreme happiness and well being at all times is practically an act of treason. If not that, at least a great insult."

"The decision about Aden is yours to make. But I have some of my closest advisors scouring all remaining Targaryen records from my father's time to see if there's any chance at Jon's true legitimacy. If Rhaegar married Lyanna, before Jon was born, in secret. It could strengthen the claim. Even if that's not the case, we cannot afford to be dishonest now."

Jon swallowed. He could feel the reality of her statement settling in. No longer a Stark. It was as if she'd ripped a piece from his chest and crushed it in her hand. And he knew he couldn't show this, he was expected to be happy.

Sansa looked at him, carefully reading his face. She saw the panic behind his eyes, for a brief moment, before they settled back into his usual calm and determined gaze. She reached for his hand, beneath the table, and squeezed it, reassuring him. She wanted to assure him it didn't matter his name, it never had, it was him that mattered. But it was officially destroying an identity he'd clung to desperately his whole life. She ached for him.

"Try to enjoy your time here, at least." Dany said. "As soon as you wrote, troops went to Winterfell to reclaim to castle in your name, and should be nearing it this week. The present situation will be resolved, at least."

And with that, she was gone.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in updates guys...my IRL job has been a hectic mess and will be for another week or so. I finally had a moment to write, and I'm starting on the next chapter right after I post this. Thank you again for all the kudos and sweet words. I adore you all! XXX.

Sansa left the meeting feeling shaky, her jaw clenched tight. She walked quickly, so Jon had to hurry to catch up, and he grabbed her arm.

"Sansa-" he began, but she shook her head.

"I don't want to talk about it right now." she said softly. "Please. Give me a few days here, with them."

Her lips shook.

"You can stay here, Sansa, with him."

"No." she said flatly. "And I don't want him here either."

She turned on her heel, marching down the hallway. Jon didn't follow her this time. She disappeared through a pair of doors, and was gone.

Jon walked to one of the columns, leaning against it. He stared at the courtyard garden, and then looked up at the clear sky. He wondered, if he, as a child, would have liked it here. He thought of Winterfell, and then of the finery here. Even Winterfell, one of the finest houses in the north, looked like a paltry cabin compared to this place.

He thought again of being a bastard once more, and his stomach flipped over. He knew, of course, he had always knew himself he was. But it was the label, the status. It was how people looked at him, like less of a man.

No. He shook his head, deep in though. Dany had been right. They had rallied behind him, the man he was, not because he bore the Stark name. But it still, in some strange way, made him terribly sad.

He turned round, deciding, and then made his way to the great hall, to find him men.

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Sansa returned to the bedchamber they shared to change into something less courtly. She found a golden silk dress, light and airy, and then called for someone to take her to her children. Kyria and Aden both ran to her, delighted and excited, as she entered the chamber they played in.

"My darlings." she said, falling to her knees and gathering them in her arms. She pulled away, looking at Aden, pushing his red curls out of his eyes. And then to Kyria, who dimpled up at her.

"We've been playing, mama. Me and Byrant." he pointed at a boy who stood in the corner, shy hiding behind the skirts of his nanny. Sansa noticed a wooden sword in his hand, and saw Aden's beside him on the floor, forgotten for a moment. "I want to be as good as Papa."

"And you will." she said, kissing him on the forehead. "Perhaps even better. Don't tell him I said that though."

He giggled. Kyria snuggled closer to her, resting her head in the crook of Sansa's neck.

"I thought it would be nice to go down to the water, today, and play. In the sunshine. It's so warm."

"Can Byrant come?" Aden pleaded, and Sansa grinned.

"Only if his nanny permits it." She stood, taking her children's hands.

Sansa sat on a wide blanket with Kyria, watching as Aden and his new friend splashed in the waves. The sunlight was dappled and orange, spilling across the coastline with boasting warm generosity. She read to Kyria in a quiet voice, out of a heavy book Kyria insisted on bringing. A tale of dragons, from long ago.

"Soon we can see Aunt Dany's dragons." she whispered to Kyria, and her daughter looked up at her eagerly. Aden screamed shrilly and then broke into hysterical laughter, and fell into the sand just beyond. Sansa grinned, wishing Jon was here enjoying it with her. She had sent for him, but he never had shown up, so she figured he'd been taken with business or something. She pushed the thought away, trying to enjoy the moment of bliss just then.

They spent the afternoon on the curve of sand below the castle, even Sansa had joined her children in the water, carrying Kyria on her hip, soaking the bottom of her skirts in the salty warm tide. She forgot, for a while, about her worries. About home, about Jon, about losing her son, someday, to a scary and far away place.

They returned to the castle long after the sun had dipped into the sea, and the night had begun to sparkle against the velvet sky. Sansa ate with her children in their chamber, laughing and keeping their spirits high. She settled them into bed, like she did at home, kissing them goodnight, stroking their hair and faces. Treasuring their little sleepy smiles. Her heart aching for home even stronger as she left them.

She strode into the bedchamber, and was surprised Jon still hadn't returned. She thought nothing of it, and instead poured herself a cup of wine, and walked out onto the balcony. She'd stripped out of her damp clothes, and stood in the moonlight, staring over the glowing city in her underclothes and night shift. There was singing in the city, and other sounds of chaos, being carried over the wind that smelled of food, ale, and the distant lemon trees beyond. She sighed, taking a long swig out of her goblet.

There was a bang behind her, and Jon stumbled into the room. He hadn't noticed her yet, and instead attempted to shrug off his vest.

"Jon." she said sharply, realizing he was drunk.

"Sansa." he said, in a surprised tone, looking over to her. "How beautiful you angel, are. So beautiful you are in the light. Moonlight." he hiccuped.

She crossed into the room as he fell into a chair. He stared, empty eyed, at the fire in the hearth.

She crouched beside him, resting a hand on his cheek. She brushed the hair out of his face, running her thumb along his jaw.

"Is this what you did all day?" she asked. He sighed, and she got a whiff of whiskey.

But when his eyes met hers, she saw how distressed he looked.

"What is it?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"Oh nothing." he said, letting his head fall back. "I left Winterfell a Stark, and will return, a bastard once more."

She felt her heart sink, and the deeply sorrowful and raw tone of his voice brought tears to her eyes.

"You're not a bastard." she whispered, squeezing his hand in hers. "You're not, Jon."

"I'll never be anything but." he said, looking at her again. "A beautiful northern princess married to nothing but a lost bastard."

"Stop it, Jon." she said, and stood. She helped him up, and led him to the bed, where he fell across it diagonally. She crossed to the other side, crawling in, and gently lifted his head and rested in on her lap.

"You can't think like this, Jon." she said. "Not right now, not in this state."

"Do you love me?" he asked, his voice slurring a little. She grinned.

"Of course I do." she said. "Now think of happier things, please. Like today, we missed you at the beach."

He groaned.

"Tell me if you're going to be sick, alright."

"I'm fine." he assured her. He pressed his face into her thigh, relishing how soft she was. How soft and warm she was, the cold queen of the north. How soft and warm she was, just for him. "Tell me about your day."

And so Jon fell asleep as Sansa quietly told him about the day she'd had, about Aden playing at swords and wanting to be like him, about Kyria throwing fistfuls of sand and screaming with joy in the warm shallows. As she spoke, his sadness melted away, and the pressure on his shoulders lightened. He listened as she painted a picture for him, of happiness and a moment of peace.

Before she knew it he was snoring. It was only when he was sleeping could Sansa see the shadow of the boy, the very slight softness he had in his face only when he was completely relaxed. Her chin quivered as she looked at him, and thought about the coming days, the coming years. How she wished there were moments she could just stay in forever, how she wished so badly, on some level, she could have a normal, commoner life.

A tear splashed onto his face, and she brushed it away, feeling silly, overdramatic.

She settled into bed beside him, curling against the familiar feel of him, relishing the constant sound of his snoring. She fell asleep almost instantly.


	26. Chapter 26

After a week in the castle, both Sansa and Jon had found a little routine. Jon had been meeting with the small council, to get a feel for the politics in the South, and Dany had asked for his advice now on a few occasions. Sansa spent some time in court, socializing, but she hated it, and only looked forward to the times she had with her family. Her and her children spent hours exploring the library and gardens. They sometimes spent evenings together, on the balcony, Jon reading to Kyria and Sansa and Aden playing with puzzles or games at the table, listening to the sound of the city below.

Daenerys assured them the army was continuing forward, but the retaking of Winterfell was still a few weeks away. And so the Starks made a home in the Red Keep, and found happiness in their own ways.

Sansa awoke in the middle of the night a few days later to a sharp pain in her belly. She sat up so suddenly it startled Jon awake. She recognized the pain immediately, on some level, but didn't want to admit to it.

"Jon." she said, her voice thick with terror. He reached for her, as she threw aside the blankets. The pain was contractions, she knew it was, she'd been in labor with Kyria nearly two days years before, and she was familiar with the sensations.

They came fast, sharp and hot, and thick blood was pooling between her legs. She cried out as another contraction seized her, and she felt lightheaded as she looked at the red spilling from her. She felt bile rising in her stomach.

Jon moved quickly, jumping out of bed and running to call for a maester. His voice, to Sansa, seemed so far away, and her vision grew cloudy and hazy. She began to say his name again, but it came out as a weak whimper. Her body was betraying her.

She felt hands on her again, Jon catching her as she slumped, limp, back towards the wall.

"Sansa." he said, shaking her. Her eyes widened, and she tried to focus on him. "Sansa, look at me." he urged her. "You're fine, darling, you're fine, you're going to be fine."

She grew limper still, and made a soft noise of protest as another contraction hit her. Jon was shaking. It was another moment where he couldn't fight this off. He couldn't wield a sword against this sort of threat. And he was scared.

In her head, Sansa was screaming. She felt herself fading, and she thought for sure, this was it. She was done, she was dying, she couldn't even hold her children for a last time.

The pain was fading. The contractions had finished, but she could feel the blood still pouring out of her. It was coming too fast.

Sansa was getting paler, the blood gone from her cheeks, from her lips. With what little strength she had left she gripped at Jon's arm. She began to close her eyes.

"Sansa!" he cried. "Stay with me, wake up, Sansa, look at me. You're fine, you're fine, darling. Look at me."

Her eyes fluttered for a moment, and she could feel herself slipping away. The last thing she saw was his face, terror stricken and covered in tears.

The maester and his aide pushed Jon aside, and he fell against the table, watching them go to work. He stared, dumbfounded, his heart racing.

He glanced up, and saw Aden, standing at the open door, watching everything with wide tear filled eyes. He seemed frozen, locked in place.

It took him a moment, but then he was across the room, gathering Aden in his arms. He wanted so badly to comfort his son, to hold him close and reassure him it was going to be okay. But it wasn't, it didn't feel okay. So he sunk to the floor, leaning against the cool stone wall, holding Aden. Aden was trembling, but silent.

"She's sick." he whispered to his father, looking up at his face. He'd never seen him cry, not that he could remember. His father was the bravest person in the world, he thought. Everyone told him about the battles he fought, how strong he was, how the North was better with him there.

"Papa." he said, nudging Jon's face. Jon finally looked down, seemingly just realizing he was there. "We are wolves." he reminded him.

Jon had said this line over and over again to Aden, to comfort him when he had bad dreams, to toughen him when he fell or got hurt. 'Wolves are brave, and strong, and fearless. And we are wolves.' he would tell him. And it always made Aden feel better, safer. So he tried to return the favor.

Jon laughed, a watery empty sound.

"That's right." he said.

Aden didn't move his hand off his father's face, but instead kept looking at him with concern.

"It's okay." he said, gently. Jon pressed his forehead against Aden's, nodding.

A woman ran in, past the pair, and up to the bed. Jon had heard the word 'midwife' muttered, and assumed this must be her. She began barking orders at the maester, calling for a dozen different things all at once. Jon watched her move Sansa, and horror sunk into the pit of his stomach as Sansa seemed to move like a limp, lifeless doll.

The maester produced a small bottle from the satchel he carried with him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and the midwife nodded.

"It's the only thing we can do."

Jon stood, lifting Aden. He clutched onto his son like a lifeline, watching them work.

"Lord Stark." the midwife repeated, and he realized she'd been addressing him. She held Sansa's face with one hand, and the potion with the other. "I said, if we administer this, there's a chance she may never have children again."

"I don't care." he said, gruffly. "Do what you must, don't let her-" he trailed off, not wanting to speak life to the word. She nodded, and opened Sansa's mouth, pouring in the liquid. She snapped her fingers, and the maester handed her another bottle. After she waited a few counts, she followed with the second potion.

"When I wake her, with this one." she held up a final, third bottle. "She will be in quite a lot of pain for a time. But it's the only way to stop her bleeding. By morning, she'll be weak, but she'll be alive."

"Fine." Jon said sharply, urgently. He needed to see her eyes again, see the life behind them.

A moment after the potion had been poured down her throat, Sansa gasped awake. Jon's knees nearly buckled beneath him, and if he hadn't caught himself on the bed post, he was sure he would have fallen from the weight of relief.

But she wasn't out of the woods yet. Just like the midwife said, she cried out in pain, reaching for something to grab onto.

"Oh, dearie." the midwife sighed, gently smoothing Sansa's hair.

"Someone take Aden." Jon said, turning around.

"No!" Aden said. "Let me stay with mama." he urged his father. Jon considered this for a moment, and then set him down on the bed. Aden crawled over to her, as she rolled over onto her side, curling into the fetal position. Tears were running down her face, but she smiled through them at her son.

"Come here, my baby." she said, holding her arms out. He settled beside her, taking her hand. Jon saw his chin tremble, and then harden. She looked up at Jon, her eyes barely open now. "Jon, please, stay with me."

He joined them on the bed. The room smelled like blood. Sansa was crying in earnest now. Jon swallowed, and like his son, forced himself to put on a brave face.

"Can we move her?" Jon asked after a while, to the maester. "At least to the other side of the bed." he said, indicating the fact that Sansa was laying, crying, in a pool of rapidly drying blood.

"Aye." he said.

Once she was moved, and changed, Sansa held her son to her chest, tears spilling onto his nightshirt. He continued to comfort her, petting her hair and face like he'd seen her father do to his sister so many times.

"We're okay, mama." he kept repeating. "We are wolves."


	27. Chapter 27

After a while, Sansa fell asleep, and so did Aden, curled up beside her. Jon couldn't though, he didn't want to shut his eyes and risk losing her again. So he watched for a long time, before he heard, faintly, the unmistakable sound of his daughter crying in the room across the hallway.

He was on his feet the next moment, and pushed out of their bedchamber and across the way to the other. The nanny jumped when the doors opened, as she was holding Kyria, trying to settle her.

"Ada?" Kyria asked Jon when she saw him, pointing at Aden's empty bed beside hers.

"Aden is in our room, with your mother." he assured her, and took her from the nanny's arms. "I can take her, if that's alright."

"Are you sure, m'lord?" she asked, looking confused. Men in the south were hardly involved with their children, especially those highborn.

He carried her back to their bedchamber. Sunrise was coming up over the city. He walked to the balcony, overlooking it, feeling both exhausted and elated. Kyria had fallen back asleep, and was breathing against his neck, her hand resting on his chest.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over the pair. Drogon was soaring out of the castle, from somewhere even higher than they were, and he cast a grand shadow across the balcony. The sight of him against the dull yellow sky of dawn was breathtaking. The way he moved so effortlessly, and how the light caught his scales just barely.

Jon shook Kyria gently, knowing she'd be thrilled to see it. She blinked, looking up at him, her brow crumpling into that of a tearful and tired child. But he pointed, and she looked up, and her mouth dropped open, into a perfect circle. She gasped lightly, a tiny sound, and Jon chuckled, marveling at her miniature beauty.

"Big." she said, one of the few words she could say. He smiled wider, nodding. She clapped her hands, and laughed, her clear blue eyes glowing with delight.

Drogon flew into the distance, heading north. Kyria didn't stop watching him until he was a tiny speck in the distance, and Jon was sure she hardly even blinked. She finally looked back over at him, and dimpled, smacking his face lightly.

"Gentle, please." he reminded her, and when she touched his face again it was a soft pat. "Are we hungry, then, my princess?"

She nodded, and tapped her lips, her way of asking for food when she didn't feel like bothering with speaking.

Jon sent for some food to be brought up, not wanting to leave Sansa or Aden, who both had continued to sleep soundly in the bed together. Jon sat Kyria on his lap, and they ate a small breakfast of plums and toast. Kyria's lips and chin got stained purple. As dawn broke into morning, the day began to warm, and rays of light crept past the balcony and snuck into the bedchamber, spilling across the marble floors with a gleam.

Aden was awoken by the sunlight, and crawled of bed, joining his father and sister on the balcony.

"Is momma okay?" he asked Jon as he pulled himself onto a nearby chair. Kyria cried out in delight when she caught sight of him, and squirmed off Jon to join Aden on his chair. Aden reached for a slice of apple, munching on it.

"She's going to be, yes." Jon said, and Aden nodded.

"I was very worried." Aden said sullenly.

"Me too." Jon sighed. "Luckily, the maesters and midwife here are the best in Westeros. They made her well again."

"I will make sure to thank them." Aden said. Jon was surprised at how formally he was speaking. Perhaps he felt, now that he'd witnessed the near death of his mother, a sense of maturity and wisdom.

"We should let her rest, today. I can take you to your lessons in a bit."

"Bran?" Kyria asked him suddenly. This took Jon aback. Kyria hadn't once asked about her favorite uncle.

"He's in Winterfell, darling." Jon explained. "He's keeping the castle safe for us so we can return."

She looked sullen at this answer, but didn't push it.

"When are we going home?" Aden asked.

"Soon, son." Jon sighed. "As soon as we can, I promise you."

Jon stood, going over to the bed to see that Sansa was still breathing. She was curled against the pillows on the one side where the bed wasn't stripped. Her hair was in tangles and splayed all over, and her mouth was barely open, her breath coming slowly and peacefully. He wondered, vaguely, if Sansa would mourn for the loss of this child. He hadn't even once thought of it, he realized, of the baby she'd lost that night. He'd only been worried about her, and her life.

He returned to his children, taking them by the hands to go get them properly dressed. He left them with their nanny and returned to the bedroom, to sleep. He could feel the weight of his exhaustion beginning to press down on him. He wondered if they'd had enough sorrows for a lifetime, and yet the Gods kept punishing them with more.

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Sansa awoke to a pounding headache and a dull throbbing ache in her lower belly. Everything had gone wrong so quickly last night, and she could barely remember a thing aside from all the blood. She could still smell it, she realized with a nauseating sense of dread. It hung in the room like a thick poison.

She stood, carefully, and felt her knees buckle. She caught herself on the edge of the bed, but the weight of the movement startled Jon awake.

"Sansa?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, her lips in a thin line.

"I'm fine, really." she sighed, and made due by sitting on the edge of the bed. "I don't want to be coddled, Jon, please. I'm alright."

He frowned, and pulled the blankets off of him. He joined her on the other side of the bed, sitting beside her.

"You nearly scared me to death, last night."

She bit down on her lip, remembering the torment in his face as she faded away.

"What did they do to me?" she asked, pressing a palm against her stomach, looking down at it.

"The midwife gave you a potion, to stop the bleeding. Something that...that might scar your insides. But it was the only thing that would save you."

Her lip quivered, but she didn't break. She reached for his hand, and squeezed it.

"What does that mean for us? Kyria takes Winterfell, eventually?"

He shrugged.

"That's so far off, Sansa." he said. "Don't worry about it, not now, please."

"Okay." she sighed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Any better?"

She nodded, slowly, taking notice of her body. She was light headed, and her body sore and unforgiving, but she was alive. And she was grateful for that.

"Aden? And Kyria?" she asked.

"They're in their lessons." he said. "Aden stayed with you most of the night. He was very brave."

"He was. No, he is." she said. "He'll be a fine king, someday."

"Aye." Jon said.

"I don't want to leave him here. Jon."

"No. Neither do I. Not yet."

She looked immensely relieved.

"I want to go home." she whispered, tears in her eyes. She hadn't missed home like this since she was a girl, trapped again in Kings Landing.

The days stretched on, long and hot, as Sansa slowly healed. She was soon strong enough to walk without help, and within a couple weeks, felt nearly completely better.

Three weeks after the incident, the Stark family was readying to return home. Carriages were being loaded, although they still had a few final days in the Red Keep.

The family sat in the dining hall, in the late evening, at a wide table. Kyria was falling asleep on Jon's lap, and Sansa was helping Aden draw pictures on a piece of parchment. With a loud bang, the double doors crashed open.

"Aunt Arya!" Aden shrieked, catching sight of her. She strode over to her family, stepping lightly. She wore brown leather riding pants, a white blouse, and her hair was cropped short and in a golden headband. Her sword was at her hip, and she smiled brightly at them all.

Aden dashed to her, abandoning his drawing, and threw his arms around her middle. She stooped, kissing his face, and mussing his hair.

Kyria had awoken, and was less enamored with the appearance of an aunt she was pretty unfamiliar with. But Jon had stood, setting Kyria on the bench. He gathered Arya in his arms, kissing the top of her head.

"We've missed you." Jon said, pulling away. Sansa was by her side, wrapping her arms around her next. Aden hadn't let go of Arya's belt once.

"I was creating unrest and havoc in Pentos." she said. "But Bran sent word...and I thought I'd join you on the way back to Winterfell."

"Wonderful." Sansa cried. Arya looked at her, and was surprised to see tears in her sisters eyes.

Arya laughed, and thumbed them off of Sansa's cheeks.

"You're such a girl." she teased her lightly, and Sansa let out a watery laugh. She kissed Arya's cheek.

"I'm just glad to see you, sister."

"I'm glad to see you. Well done on not dying." she added.

Ghost padded over, his ears up, tongue lolling in a jolly fashion. He'd been roaming the castle grounds as he pleased, as nobody seemed brave enough to tell Jon it was unacceptable. Arya cried out in delight, falling to her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"My favorite Stark!" she cried, kissing his ears and muzzle. He lapped at her face. Kyria was now perched on the edge of the table, watching the scene with interest.

"Oh, Gods. Kyria!" Sansa said, turning, and scooping up her daughter. "This is your Aunt Arya, the last time we saw her, you were just a babe."

Kyria nodded, but her face remained serious. Arya approached her cautiously.

"Hello, little lass." she tried, holding out her finger for Arya to take and examine. "She looks just like you, Jon." she commented. "Thank god she's not another ginger."

Sansa smacked at her with her free hand, and Arya jumped out of the way.

"Well, perhaps she'll enjoy the presents I've brought them."

"Presents?" Aden asked, still at Arya's hip. Arya crouched down, and pulled a small sheathed knife from the pouch at her side. It was silver handled, with sapphire laid into the sheath. He took it, his mouth agape.

"I had a...friend, make it for you special." she said. Aden gently unsheathed it, and saw the Stark sigil burned into the blade.

Sansa arched a brow at this, but said nothing.

Arya stood, and fished something else from her bag. It was a tiny iron dragon, it's mouth open, with red rubies spilling from it's mouth to represent flames. She handed it to Kyria, who took it with wide eyes.

"Drogon." she said softly. "I see'd him."

Arya smiled, looking back to Jon and Sansa.

"I knew I could buy her affection." she said. "So...when do we leave?"


	28. Chapter 28

The journey was long, but the queen had many friends who gladly offered their homes, manors, and castles to the family on the way back. At some point though, Sansa and Jon decided all the socializing was wearing down on them. Before they knew it, they were back in the tented camps they were all too familiar with.

They'd been absent from Winterfell nearly 4 months, and when they finally returned, it had been almost 8 all together. Sansa realized that she may have had a baby with her, if things had gone differently.

Finally, after the months of travelling grew to a close, Winterfell crested over the horizon, and they rode upon it, urging the tired horses just a little further, just a little faster.

Bran waited for them in the courtyard, and Sansa was surprised to find him looking even older and more dignified. He sat in a wheeled chair cart he'd designed himself, that rolled easily even through the mud in the yard of of Winterfell.

He embraced them all, smiling brightly. Kyria climbed onto his lap and settled there, leaning against him casually, more relaxed and happier than they'd seen her the whole time. He smoothed her hair, glad to be reunited with his favorite niece.

"There's someone I want you all to meet." he said, looking up at his sisters and Jon. He motioned to his right, where a pretty and curvaceous young woman descended the steps. She had long blonde hair with was neatly plaited, and a nearly plain face, but it lit up as soon as she smiled. She was pleasantly rosy cheeked, and had freckles, and deep dimples, just like Kyria.

"Alis Cerwyn." Bran said. "Well, actually, Alis Stark."

The family was silent for a long moment as they absorbed the news. Alis looked at them, nervously, and then curtsied, low.

"Honored to finally meet you." she said. Her voice was soft, singsong like.

"Hello!" Sansa cried, her face lighting up. She rushed to Alis, taking her hands and then hugging her. "I can't believe it, you're so lovely."

Bran gave Sansa a look, and she laughed.

"Not to say...Bran...oh just look at you. You've married, Bran, oh darling." she bent, kissing his cheeks.

The other Starks greeted her with equal eagerness.

"That only leaves Arya, now." Jon said dryly. Arya laughed.

"Funny joke, Jon." she said. "Really."

He rolled his eyes.

"When did you marry?"

"A few months ago, once the army arrived and the traitors were dealt with. But we'd been writing letters for a while before that." Bran said, looking up at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She grinned down at him, and took his hand, squeezing it.

"Did you do this yourself?" Sansa asked, pointing at the embroidery at the nape of Alis' dress.

"I did." Alis said, looking down, embarrassed.

"It's beautiful!" Sansa marveled, looking closely at the miniscule row of roses entwined with thorns and branches. She looked at Jon, excitedly.

"Come on." Bran said, turning his chair round. "We should eat, you all should have a meal before you go to rest.

Kyria clapped as Bran pushed them through the courtyard swiftly. She stood on his legs, using his shoulder to balance herself, looking up and around at the grey walls around her. She finally felt safe, and blissful. Completely so.

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Things seemed to return to normal over the next few weeks, it felt as though the family had never left. And Daenerys had been right, the bannermen didn't say a thing once about the official announcement of Jon's true parentage. Even a few wrote to remind him of their support, thanking him for his leadership.

"Well, where were they when we were running for our lives?" Sansa asked, looking at the letter bitterly.

"It's in the past, Sansa." Jon sighed. "Not to mention we didn't even make a call to arms, perhaps they would have retaken Winterfell for us, with no help from the queen."

She rolled her eyes, but she tried to forget about it.

One morning, Jon and Sansa went out for a hunt. Sansa had begun accompanying him in the year before Kyria was born, and they went together on days when there wasn't much business to attend to. He'd taught her how to hunt with a bow and arrow, and she's really grown quite skilled at it.

Mist rolled low over the hills and crept into the edges of the forest. Sansa felt the relief of being free of her responsibilities as soon as she rode out of the gates of Winterfell. Though her home brought her safety, it also brought with it the weight of being a Queen. When it was just her and Jon, alone in the woods, she felt truly free.

She rose beside Jon, enjoying the steady rise and fall of the horse beneath her, inhaling the crisp morning air. They galloped into the trees, and slowed, following a winding deer path up a small incline. Sansa wore her hair in a tight braided bun atop her head, and a thick woolen sweater and fur lined riding pants. Across her chest her bow and quiver were strung. Jon wore a leather jacket in black, a color he still hadn't let go of, even after leaving the Watch. Along with his bow, was his sword.

They were both silent, watching the trees around them as they rode.

Sansa's eye caught movement in the brush beyond, and then a glimpse of white. She quickly strung her arrow, and used her legs to slow the horse. Jon, just behind her, stopped to watch.

She shut an eye, focusing in on where she'd seen the movement. After a moment, she let the bow loose, but the white-tailed deer dodged it, and sprinted away into the distance. She sighed, lowering the bow. Jon laughed.

"You were close." he assured her, and rode forward. He eyed the spot where she'd just fired, and then dismounted, scooping her arrow up. He handed it up to her, and she returned it to her quiver.

"I thought I had him for sure." she said. "Stupid of me to think it'd be that easy."

"Ahh," he said, climbing back atop Stranger. "Isn't that the case with everything?"

She gave him a wry smile, but didn't respond.

Jon watched her disappearing figure in awe. How her hair glowed in the dull morning light, how the sweater hugged her small waist, and then the curve of her hips. She rode forward a ways, but stopped when she didn't hear Jon's horse following her.

She turned around, arching a brow at him.

"What?" she called. He grinned cheekily.

"Come on, abandon the hunt for a moment. I want to show you something." he said.

He changed directions, heading to the edge of the trees, and she turned her horse round, following him. They rode for a while, nearly an hour, with Sansa pestering him the whole time about where he was taking her.

Finally, he turned back into the trees, and they rode deep into the forest, until they reached a small clearing. The creek that ran through the woods widened here, and in the distance, Sansa heard a waterfall. They crossed the creek on their horses, the icy water splashing onto their legs as they did.

They mounted a final hill, which dropped off as a cliff. Below it was a pool of bright blue water, surrounded by trees and a carpet of thick green grass. Into the pool a waterfall spilled.

Jon looked at Sansa, who's face had lit up in delight.

"I didn't know this was out here." she said softly, before swinging down off Rose, her mare.

"I found it when I was 14. I used to come out here a lot. I don't know why I haven't showed you it before." Jon said, joining her on the edge of the cliff. She was surprised how warm it felt, the air around them. She walked over to the stream that led to the waterfall, and put her hand in. It was icy cold.

"Why's it so warm?" she asked.

"The pool is a hot spring." he said. She sniffed the air, and then noticed the slight tinge of sulfur. She wrinkled her nose, but smiled.

"Let's go swimming." she said.

Before he knew it, she was running down the hill, towards the water, tugging off her bow and then grabbing at the edge of her sweater. He followed her down, walking slower, watching her as she reached the edge of the pool and untied her pants.

She undressed completely, her skin tightening and nipples hardening in the cold morning air. She jumped, and was enveloped by the silky warm water. She swam up to the surface, and gasped for air.

Jon tugged off his boots hastily, and stumbled on a rock nearby.

"Slow down, Lord Stark." Sansa giggled.

"Not a Stark anymore." he said as he unbuckled his pants. "I think I'm more formerly...what, Jon Waters? Jon Hill? I can't remember which surname I'm blessed with this time."

"You're ridiculous. Lord Targaryen, then."

"Not one of them, either." he said, but was grinning wider now. His clothes joined Sansa's in a crumpled mess, and he dove in. He dissappeared underneath the water, and then Sansa felt a hand tug at her ankle. She squealed, and he popped up beside her.

"A High born queen, skinny dipping with a common bastard." Jon said, reaching for her waist and pulling her to his chest.

"What would the court say?" she said, gasping lightly. She pressed her forehead against his, meeting his eyes. His hands traveled up the curve of her spine, his thumbs pressing against the edge of her breasts.

"Well, I don't know what they'd say. But I say this is a much more agreeable alternative to hunting."

"Mmm." she hummed. "I'm inclined to agree."

She slipped out of his grasp, and swam towards the waterfall. She stuck her hand in, and pulled it back, surprised at the contrast of cold and warm, which brought goosepimples to her skin. She went underneath the water, swimming under the strong current of the waterfall, and into the cave behind.

It was dimmer, but shallower, and she could stand on the bottom. The walls were slick with moisture. A moment later, Jon joined her.

"It's loud!" she cried, and he smiled. Her stomach flipflopped at the sight of his grin, dazzling and so rarely brought to his lips. She settled on a ledge, sitting atop the smooth rock, still completely immersed in the water.

"Good!" he said back, and swam closer, wrapping his hands around her waist and squeezing. She looked up at him, biting her lip, grinning. When he spoke again, his breath was hot against her ear. "Nobody will hear Lady Stark's very unladylike moaning."

She hummed, running her hands down the length of his hard body, still so rigid even though his fighting days were mostly done.

"Let's stay here forever." she whispered, looking up at him with her round blue eyes, her lashes covered in moisture.

"Gods, yes." he sighed, sinking into her softness.


	29. Chapter 29

Jon and Sansa emerged from the water an hour later, both of them wrinkly from the moisture. Sansa shivered, pulling on the clothes she'd left abandoned as quickly as she could.

"Shall we return to the hunt, then?" she asked, grinning at her husband as he got dressed.

"I suppose we don't have much else to do." he said, with a sigh. They shared an ironic smile, before rejoining their horses.

They walked out of the treeline, and looked over at Winterfell. Just approaching the gates was a small caravan of carriages, and a few rows of cavalry. Sansa squinted, trying to make out the banners.

"It's the Vale." Jon sighed, clearly glimpsing the blue and white tapestries flapping in the wind. "I suspected we might be hearing from Littlefinger."

"There's other banners too, Jon." Sansa said, indicating a few different colors. House Reed, she realized grimly, and House Whitehill. "This cannot be good."

They urged the horses on, across the field. Sansa realized she didn't look as dignified as she might like, her hair still damp from the water and loose over her back. Their clothes were wet too, the mist and the moisture had settled into them.

"I really wish he'd stop appearing without warning." Jon called to Sansa over the roar of the hooves.

"He likes the element of surprise." she called back, and Jon's jaw tightened.

They reached the gates a few minutes after the carriages had been ushered in. The courtyard was empty when they rode through, and they both dismounted hurriedly.

"Shall I change?" Sansa asked him as she joined his side, walking towards the receiving hall.

"No. It'll be better if it looks as though he's disturbed us." he said grimly. "Which he has."

They walked through the doors of the hall, and the room fell silent.

"Sorry to leave you all waiting." Jon said, voice heavy with distaste. "Normally we would be happy to receive you in a much more dignified manner."

Bran was already seated at the head of the table, but he was busying himself with papers in front of him. Jon and Sansa joined him, taking seats.

Littlefinger had brought with him dignitaries from the other houses, Jon suspected, to look like a united front. Something felt off. Usually the faces of visiting houses were open, pleasant, and ready to speak calmly. But Jon saw with this group, anger and distrust.

"Well?" he asked, looking at Baelish, waiting. Peter stood, and approached them at the front of the hall.

"You look as lovely as ever." he said to Sansa briskly. Sansa did not meet his eyes, but instead stared straight ahead.

"Jon Snow-" Petyr began, but Sansa interrupted him.

"I'd remind you Jon is still your sworn Lord." she snapped. "And thus you will address him with respect, or I'll see you thrown out of my home."

"Aye. For the moment, he is indeed the Lord of the House." Littlefinger said, a small grin on his face. "But myself and the sworn bannermen Reed and Whitehill have formed a council, and written up a movement to unseat him." he said, and handed a scroll to Bran.

"According to the Master of Laws, and the ruling government of Westeros, a Lord may be unseated if his sworn allegiances find him unfit or illegally holding power."

"You side with him?" Jon asked, looking over at the representing noblemen from Reed and Whitehill. "I suspect he paid you a very hefty sum. Lady Jyana..." he trailed off, looking sadly at the woman he'd made an allegiance with so many years before. She looked much older, her hair streaked with grey, her face ashen. She looked down at her hands, clearly ashamed.

"It's not a matter of money, but instead of loyalty." Littlefinger said.

"And what of loyalty to your Queen?" Sansa asked.

"Queen Daenerys-"

"No." Sansa said, interrupting him again. "Not her. Myself. Your sworn Queen, in the north, what of me? Am I to be unseated as well?"

"We merely insist on the trueborn son of Ned Stark ruling Winterfell, and want trueborn children to take his place afterwords. We have no protest to you ruling beside Bran."

"My children are as much Stark as Bran's would be." Sansa said, her voice low and dangerous.

"And according to the Laws of Man, they wouldn't carry the name. Not truthfully. We've done our research, consulted with the legal maesters of the Scholastic Order agree. In fact, it is their law."

Sansa looked at the paper, neatly written was the codes Petyr was referring to. Exhaustively researched, she was sure, the codes had been written hundreds of years before.

"And when Aegon united the lands of Westeros," Bran stated "he opted to respect each region's local laws, or did that part escape you? These laws stand in the South, of course." he took the paper, and promptly tore it in half. Petyr looked temporarily shocked, and for a moment, so was Sansa. Bran was always the calmest of the Starks, even more so with age.

"We are in the North, Lord Baelish." Bran finished.

"Then I have no option to take this matter to the High Court." Petyr said. "And I was hoping to opt out of that. We simply wish to move Jon from his seat of power and leave it with Bran. That's all we ask. We stand with Starks, not Targaryen, here in the North."

"You have never stood for anyone but yourself, Littlefinger." Sansa said, but Jon held up his hand.

"Fine." he said flatly. "The house goes to Bran."

"Jon!" Sansa said, turning to him.

"The House is Bran's." Jon repeated. "Unless he means to throw his nephew and niece out of the home."

"It's as much my house as yours." Bran said after a moment.

Petyr grinned, and stepped away from the table.

"So it's settled." he said.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You can't be serious." Sansa snapped, as soon as she was alone with Jon in the next room, the small library. "Jon, something is very wrong with this."

"What?" Jon said. "If you can tell me what is wrong with it, then I'll be happy to retake the Head."

She waited, thinking.

"Petyr has a plan. Littlefinger always has a plan." she says.

"What is it?"

"I don't know!" she shouted.

He watched her, pacing across the carpet.

"You'll still be Queen." he said. "There was never a mention of unseating you."

"But Jon...the power that comes with being the Lord of Winterfell...the protection it provided for us, for our children- you just want to give that all up?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"You don't believe Bran would want the same protection for the future of the realm?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. In a way, he was relieved. In a way, Jon Snow...Jon Stark...Jon whoever...Jon was tired. He was worried. He was terrified for the future of his children, and the only way he could guarantee their safety, was to grant them to Queen Daenerys' line.

"Kyria will never hold Winterfell." Sansa said. "She can't...Aden, maybe, but once he's old enough, he'll go to Kings Landing...that leaves our daughter vulnerable. Another princess to be pawned off into a marriage, and not the ruling Lady of the House."

"Sansa." he said, trying to calm her. "It will hardly change a thing."

"You can't lead the army." she said. "You will no longer command our men."

"The men are as loyal to me as they are to Bran."

She shut her eyes. She wasn't going to win the argument. But something felt so off, so wrong about the situation. Not only with Littlefinger, who she was sure had some sort of hidden plan to turn the power in his favor. But with Jon, too. How could he give up this easy? Something he'd fought so hard, with her, to win? And just like that, he wants it to be over.

"I'm going to see our children." she said, her voice void of emotion. And with that, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello darlings...hope it wasn't too boring for you. I have plans in the works, fret not! Much more to come! Thank you all so much for your wonderful responses, Kudos, subscriptions, and support. I might be hosting a small giveaway in a couple chapters...a Thank You to all my beautiful and loyal subscribers. I hit my personal record on this story and I'm looking to celebrate! If you'd be interested in participating, leave a comment! I think I'll be doing a random choosing of my author subscribers and anyone who reviews...if you think it's a nice sentiment, and maybe want some Game Of Thrones merch, let me know below! XXXX


	30. Chapter 30

Sansa walked into the nursery where Aden and Kyria played. The same nursery she had as a child, her father before her, and so on and so on for hundreds of years. She knelt beside them, pulling Kyria into her lap.

"Would you leave us, please?" she asked the nanny near the door gently. She nodded, and left them alone. Sansa felt tears spring in her eyes, but she pulled a book off a nearby shelf, determined to distract herself.

She was hurt, and confused. Maybe she'd had the wrong idea about Jon this whole time. This entire time, these years she'd been by his side. She felt like she'd been lied to. He was not the power hungry man she'd admired from her youth, nor was he any longer the brave soldier, willing to fight for his home. He'd rolled over, belly up, like a dog, not a wolf.

It wasn't so much her upset at the loss of her own position. It had been made very clear she could stand beside Bran as much as she could Jon. But she felt this would cause a severe vulnerability with her children. Aden was the heir to the throne, yes, the Iron Throne, but what of Kyria? Would they simply have to give up their home, become Kings Landing residents? The home she had fought so fiercely for, suffered so dearly for.

They could deny the claim, of course, but that might very well spark a civil war. Something they couldn't risk, that was for sure. Combined, House Arryn and House Whitehill had together what the rest of the North had. She couldn't call her bannermen to war, to defend a claim they might find reasonable.

The door to the nursery opened, to Sansa's back, and she sighed in relief, knowing it must be Jon. To say something reasonable and calm and reassuring, like he always did. To make the worries dissipate, to kiss her forehead and remind her there were things...people...more important than politics.

"I'm sorry I left." she said softly.

"I am, too." a voice replied, not Jon's. She spun, and Littlefinger sat coyly against the wall, watching her carefully.

"Oh, you." she said. "I thought you were Jon."

"I wish I was, sometimes." he admitted. "To have a family with you, a castle. Power, like he has, not riding off the back of some imbecile child in the Vale."

She shut her eyes, and pulled Kyria off her lap. Aden was in the corner, watching Littlefinger carefully.

"Your jealousy puts my family in danger." she said in a low tone. She stood, turning to him. She crossed her arms.

"Do you know how much you resemble your mother, these days?" he asked. "Aging so gracefully, like she did. Married to another northern brute, like she was."

"Why do you think insulting my family is going to get you what you want?" she asked. "Especially my father."

"I'm not here to insult you, Sansa." he said flatly. "I'm here to threaten you."

"Aden." Sansa said, looking to her son. "Take your sister, and leave. Go to papa."

Aden stood, and extended his hand to Kyria, who was lingering near him. The only door out of the Nursery, Petyr was planted firmly in front of. Aden looked to his mother, unsure what to do.

For a moment, a moment of pure naivety, Sansa was sure he wouldn't hurt a child.

"Go, it's alright." she urged Aden. Aden stepped around her carefully, and pulled Kyria to the door.

Baelish moved quickly, and grabbed both of her children roughly by the arms. He shoved Kyria back towards Sansa, but held Aden against his chest. Then, from his side, produced a dagger.

"It would be very unfortunate to kill the only heir to the throne, wouldn't you think?" he asked. He pressed the cold steel against Aden's small throat. Aden stayed stony faced, but Sansa saw his chest moving up and down rapidly. He was terrified. Sansa was too, and for a moment, thought she would promptly faint. But she forced herself to stay upright.

"You've gone mad, Petyr." she said, her voice as steady as she could manage. Kyria was crying now, clutching her mother's leg.

"I have been. And there's no way...now...that I escape this trivial life unscathed. So I may as well leave a final crushing blow to him. You chose him, Sansa. When I offered you the world, a world you so heartily deserved, you chose him. And while I can't challenge him, there's no way I could best him...his children are just weak enough..."

His eyes glinted in a twisted sort of joy. Sansa scrambled, to think of what to do.

There was a sudden attempt to open the door, the knob jingled. Petyr jumped, and the knife slipped, leaving a small trail of blood on Aden's neck. Aden whimpered.

"It's okay darling." Sansa whispered, trying to assure him. "Let him go, Petyr." Sansa begged. There was another shake of the door, and then a knock.

"M'lady, are you alright?" a voice called from the other side. It was the nanny. Petyr gave her a pointed look.

"I'm fine." Sansa said, but her voice was trembling. The footsteps outside the door disappeared.

"Whatever you want me to do, Petyr, I'll do it." she said. More tears were streaming down her cheeks, she realized, she'd never been more scared. Not since Joffery, Ramsay. Nothing could prepare her for that moment just then. "Is it me you want? Let them go...please, let them go and you can have me. Here and now. One last chance, before you're sent to die."

Petyr's face changed, and for a moment, he looked hopeful. And then, he released Aden.

"They can't leave." he said. "We won't have time."

Sansa could see clearly he was already excited. Her chest filled with dread.

"The closet, then." she said. The tears wouldn't stop.

She knelt.

"Get in the closet my darlings. Cover your ears, tight. It'll all be over soon, mama will be fine."

"Mummy..." Aden began, his tears starting. He reached for her, but she pushed him away.

"Don't disobey me now, Aden." she said firmly. "Go."

He pulled Kyria away, who was crying softly against him. He opened the closet where the toys were kept, and shut the door behind him.

Petyr stepped forward, his knife still brandished.

"I don't want you to risk any funny business." he said, as he slowly began unbuckling his pants. Sansa stepped back, leaning against the set of drawers behind her. "Turn around." he ordered.

She turned, gripping the wood, trying to keep her hands from shaking uncontrollably. She prayed, desperately hard. She mentally cried out for anyone, anything, to come to her aide.

She felt the cool of the blade against the back of her neck, and it sliced easily through her top layer of clothes. The sweater fell off, but she clutched it to her chest. She bit at her lip, to keep from screaming. It would be over, soon, she assured herself, and her children would be safe. Then, she heard the fabric of her pants, splitting, and her smallclothes. She felt like vomiting. His hands touched her skin, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Mama!" Kyria's voice called from inside the closet.

"Cover your ears, now!" Sansa screamed, her voice tight and filled with anger. Kyria was quiet.

Petyr tightened his hand around the back of Sansa's neck, and pushed her face down.

"No." he said, letting go. For a moment, she thought she may be free. "No, I want to see your face."

He spun her around, forcefully. She looked up at him, her face covered in tears. He reached back, and smacked her firmly across the cheek.

"If you call for help, your children will watch me ravish your cold...dead...figure-"

There was a burst, and they both jumped. The door had exploded open, Brienne standing their, sword brandished, two other guards behind her. She saw the scene before her, and Sansa recognized the fire in her eyes.

But Petyr moved quickly. He moved Sansa around, to his chest, and held the knife to her throat. She could feel him, still, pressed against her.

She slowly reached between her breasts, where she kept a dagger concealed. Her chest hadn't been revealed to him yet, and she'd held the sweater tight against herself.

Then, she saw Jon, appear behind the guards. His face, so wrought with pure fury, like nothing she'd seen before.

"Unhand her." Brienne said, low and dangerous.

"Why?" Petyr laughed. She could hear the madness, then, the sickness of his mind. He was delighted, even though he was about to die.

She wielded the knife, pushing it between her legs, straight through the space between her splayed thighs, and into Petyr. She shoved him away as she screamed, backing towards Brienne. She was breathing heavily, and felt a sick pleasure of watching him scream on the floor.

Jon was beside her then, and she heard the familiar sound Longclaw being unsheathed. With a single push, he pressed the sword through Littlefinger's chest, slowly, relishing his yells of pain.

The pair stood there, both with blood on their hands and faces, breathing heavily. The same rage pounded through their chest, and the same delight in the death of their enemy.

"The children?" Jon asked, as Littlefinger sputtered his final breath.

"They are in the closet." she replied slowly. He looked at her, and realizing she was mostly naked, he tore off his coat, covering his wife's indecency.

"Are you alright?" he asked, but his jaw had not unclenched. He looked back down at Littlefinger.

"The children can't see you like this." she said. "You need to go, you're too upset."

She was right. He'd not felt a fury like this since he'd gotten his fists on Ramsay. Calmed only by the sight and underlying gentleness of Sansa's clear blue eyes.

"Go." she said. "I'm alright."

He stepped outside, and fell against the stone of the castle, breathing heavily, forcing himself to calm down. Reassuring himself that now, now, everything was over.


	31. Chapter 31

Jon's cloak around her shoulders, Sansa rushed to the closet, pulling it open. Both her children tumbled out, crying hysterically. She gathered them, hushing them, pulling them out of the room and into the cool air of the outside. There, in the breezeway, she fell on the ground, tugging them both onto her lap. She quieted them, smoothing their hair, assuring they were fine and everything was fine now.

She called for gauze for Aden's small cut on his throat, which had bled down his chest. Some blood had transferred to Kyria's cheek and hand, and Sansa knew he'd been holding his sister to comfort her from her fears. She felt a pang of appreciation for her son, and a deep love for both her children.

"You were so brave, darling." she whispered to Aden, stroking his face. "The bravest you've ever been. I'm so proud of you, my little wolf."

He sniffed, burying his face in her bosom. Kyria had caught sight of Jon, down a ways, and rushed to him before Sansa could stop her.

All the anger in the world melted away when Jon felt her daughter reaching up for him, saw her tearstricken face. He scooped her up, and she felt the familiar safety of her father's arms. She let out a shuttering sigh, burying her face in his hair and neck. He held her silently, wishing he could think of the same reassuring words Sansa was so good at conjuring up. But instead he fell silent, and let his arms around her tight speak for themselves.

Eventually, he crossed the breezeway, and sat on the ground beside Sansa. Aden crawled into his lap, and looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Did you kill him good, papa?" he asked.

"Only because he was hurting your mother." Jon explained. "We protect our own, Aden."

Sansa looked at Jon, her brows furrowed.

"I'm so sorry, Jon." she whispered. He shook his head.

"We will speak of it another time, Sansa." he said. He unlatched Kyria from his chest, and handed her to her mother. He stood. "I have some business to attend to."

He summoned Bran and the visiting dignitaries from the other houses. He explained the situation, informed them of Petyr's death. Then, he proposed ruling beside Bran, instead of over him, as a united front. Equal power, and equal input. Where Bran was wise, perhaps, Jon understood battle, and was the favorite of their loyalest bannermen. Even Bran looked relieved when he suggested this, and it didn't take long for the other houses to agree. In fact, they nearly tripped over themselves singing apologies to Jon and house Stark, saying Petyr threatened them and their children, that they felt they had no other choice but to unite with him. It was clear now, that Littlefinger had been driven mad. That his excellent manipulation skills had soured, and the desperation and obsession with Sansa had turned him into a despicable and craven man.

Jon was never going to relinquish the seat, but instead let Petyr think that. That way, he could council with houses Reed and Whitehill on his own, and get to the bottom of Baelish's plan. But Baelish had acted quicker than Jon had anticipated, and for that, he would feel the regret of letting Sansa in harm's way for the rest of his life. And he hadn't shared his plan with Sansa because everyone needed to believe it, because Petyr was smart, once, and he knew when someone was pulling the wool over his eyes. Jon knew that.

Sansa put the children to bed, who were both exhausted. She laid in Aden's bed, Kyria curled around her brother like a vice, and assured them their worries could be put to rest. That now, their enemies had been vanquished, for the time being. Kyria fell asleep first, but Aden stayed up a while longer with his mother.

"Are you okay, mummy?" he asked, his brow crinkled in concern.

"Of course, darling." she whispered, a small smile on her lips. "Your mother has been through much worse than this, Aden, and I suspect, we will go through all these trials again someday. But it will be a long time, now, and tonight, you shall rest." She leaned forward, kissing him on the forehead. She needed to appear strong for her children, that's all she could do right now. Soon enough, Aden fell asleep as well.

She left the bedchamber, and stepped out into the hallway. She took a deep breath, pushing her hair from her face. She was exhausted, and still felt emotionally raw. She knew she was mere moments from a breakdown, and hurried in the direction of their bedchamber door.

She sniffled as she rushed through the doorway, and sat down at the vanity. She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to stop the flood of tears. It wasn't just Petyr, it was everything. There hadn't been a spare moment to collapse, not since the miscarriage, and the grief was pushing in. She looked in the mirror, at the red welt on her cheek. Her chin trembled, and she forced herself to take a breath, get a grip.

And then Jon walked in.

She turned round, and looked at him blankly.

"I'm the head of house again, m'lady." he said, a small, victorious smile on his face.

"Well." she said, and could hear how strangled her voice sounded. Then, like a crashing wave, she burst into tears.

Jon paused in surprise, and then hurried forward. He helped her up, her shoulders shaking from the sobs, and led her into bed. He pulled her against his chest, letting her cry against him, pushing her hair from her face. The image of Petyr pressed against her naked figure filled him again with rage, as did her tears. He was surprised to find tears fill his own eyes. He wanted to kill him again, and again, in a hundred different ways.

"I've...I've let...you down..." Sansa choked out. "I killed our...last chance...of having more children."

"What?" he asked, and pulled her back, looking at her face in astonishment.

"I've failed you, Jon." she said, her face contorted in anguish.

"Never." he whispered. "Impossible. You couldn't ever fail me Sansa. You didn't fail me, or your children, or this house."

"He wanted to kill Aden, Jon! And then our name would have died out..." she sobbed again. "I would have lost our son...that's why I let him..."

"Shh." he hushed her. "Sansa, you don't need to explain your actions, not to me."

She nodded, and buried her face in his neck. He pressed his lips against the top of her head, relishing her familiar scent. He understood everything, that Sansa acted always for her family first. There was nothing in the world that might convince him otherwise. She was so strong, he thought, and always got the worst of the situation. And yet she continued to flourish, a flower that would bloom even in the harshest of winters. As he felt her body shaking against his, he thought he could never love a person as much as he loved her.

They'd been through so much together, shared so much. A childhood, too many wars to count, the loss of so many loved ones. Yet...she'd grown stronger, made him two beautiful children, shared her life with him. He felt the tears coming again, and this time, he allowed them.

He sat her up, using his thumb to guide her face to his.

"Sansa." he said softly, and she hiccuped, waiting for him to speak. But he didn't. Instead he looked at her in this funny, calculating, and appreciative way. She was surprised to see such emotion in his eyes.

With his gentle, persuasive way, Jon had become everything in her life. The most important piece of her world. That he would die for her, without a second thought, and her for him. That he had fought for her, and her alone. That so much of what he'd done, in the past years, had only been for her. That his calm presence, his comforting and subtle strength, it had probably been the lone reason she'd saved her sanity.

She'd stopped crying, she realized, and hadn't broken gaze with Jon.

"You're alright?" he asked, and she nodded, sitting up a little.

"I'm glad you're here now." she whispered.

She leaned forward, and kissed him. She needed him, she realized, right then, in a deep and instinctive sense. She felt a flame within her alight, and found herself hurriedly untying his shirt. He grabbed her hands, and pulled away.

"Sansa, you don't have to-" he began, but she found his mouth with hers again. She kissed at him with such passion, such desperation, such hot fury, he could hardly be convinced to pull away again.

She was atop him, straddling him now, impatiently loosening her bodice and letting her breasts spill forward. He kissed at her naked neck, his tongue hot and searching for every piece of skin that would win him a noise of approval. He pushed her off him, and climbed atop her, groping at her warm pale flesh, and then dipping his fingers inside her. She felt deliciously warm and inviting, and she said his name, again and again, as he coaxed an orgasm from her.

Finally, he was inside her, and felt his own inadvertent grunt escape from his lips. She pressed her forehead against his, her mouth hovering inches from his, their hot breath bringing pinkness to eachother's cheeks. With every thrust, she let out a low, deep moan, getting louder until she had to bite onto his bicep to keep from waking the children in the next room.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, deepening the sensation, and felt her body begin to climax again. Then, he began to join her. Her back arched, and he dipped his hand underneath it, pulling her closer to him as they came together.

He fell beside her, and they both laid there, breathing heavily. They both realized how much better they felt, a physical reminder of the love and comfort in one another. How close they were, and could be.

"I love you." Jon gasped out, and Sansa smiled, nodding.

"I love you too." she replied.

After they'd caught their breath, Sansa curled under the furs, wrapping around him like a mollusk against an ocean rock. Her soft hair enveloped the both of them, spilling over Jon's chest and shoulders like an extra blanket. She fell asleep, listening to the sturdy pounding of his heart, and he fell asleep, his arms around her protectively, so nobody else could hurt her. Not tonight, he thought, and not ever again.


	32. Chapter 32

_An Epilogue, In parts._

* * *

_3 months later_

Sansa sat in the washroom, looking down at her fingers as she calculated the weeks that had gone by since she'd bled last. For a moment, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope, but pushed it away. The midwife, back in King's Landing, had told her, typically the potion would destroy any chance of conceiving.

She looked down at her belly, and at the familiar bowing of her uterus. She'd seen it, 3 times before, and each time she'd been correct. It all began to add up, what she assumed was a nasty stomach flu had been morning sickness. The mood swings...all of it.

Joy bloomed in her chest, this time, she allowed it. However small the chances, she'd broken them. She figured the gods had given her enough suffering for a lifetime, and now had sent her a gift.

She scrambled from the chamber pot, pulling up her unspotted underclothes. She gathered her skirt, and tied it as fast as she could. She ran from the room, and outside, into the breezeway. She thought, for a moment, where he might be. Then, nearly slipping on the ice, she ran down the stairs, and across the courtyard. She had no time to be dignified. Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest.

She crashed into the office, nearly bubbling over with giddy screams. Jon jumped, and swore, turning round. He saw the look on her face, and his eyes lit up.

"What is it?"

"A baby." she said, her voice thick with emotion. She threw herself at her, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm pregnant, Jon."

"What?" he said, laughing nervously in some disbelief. He pulled back, placing his hands on either side of her head, searching her eyes for any sort of irony or joke. Instead, he saw tears of happiness, tears of relief. "You're serious." he said softly, and then smiled. "Sansa, are you serious?"

She nodded, beaming, her face nearly split in two from the force of the smile. She laughed again, and put a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle herself.

"I can't believe it." he said softly. Then he reached for her, picking her up, and spun her, before setting her on the edge of the wide desk, covering her face in kisses.

"We'll feast, tonight." he said. "I'll have them ring the bells, and make as much lemon cake as you can possibly eat without bursting."

She giggled, nodding, and brushed the tears off his cheeks. She couldn't remember a time he looked this happy. Jon was often very good at hiding his emotions, but when it came to the love of his children, he was as open a book as any.

* * *

_6 months later_

Sansa was in a screaming fit as the contractions hit her, her belly swollen above the blankets. She was immense, sure that this child would break her in half. The midwife was between her legs, urging her to push, and Jon was holding her head, mopping her face up with a cool rag.

With a final push, she felt a release, and then a cry of a child. She began to cry as well, reaching for the baby, but the midwife made a nervous sound, and handed the child to an aide.

"What?" Jon asked. The baby looked smaller than he thought it would, especially with the size Sansa had grown too, bigger than she had been with Aden or Kyria.

"There's another child." she said, sighing, and poking her head lower. "Twins, the first a girl, and this one a boy, by the looks of it. He's breach, though."

"Twins?" Sansa screamed, looking up at Jon. "You said he was just larger..." she began, but was interrupted by the force of another contraction.

"I was incorrect." the midwife said with a small, nervous laugh. "And my dear, you'll have to push again."

Sansa made a soft noise of protest, falling back against the pillows.

"Come on, Sansa." Jon took her, squeezing her hand as tight as he dared. "You know you can do this."

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing with determination. She looked back to the midwife, and leaned forward.

"Push as hard as you can, with breach, it may be even harder than you ever have before." she said. Sansa gripped Jon's arm, and shut her eyes. She leaned forward as she did, and cried out. She screamed for what seemed like an eternity, and then, another stronger release. The midwife laughed, and there was a smack, and the cry of another baby. With all the screaming and crying of the infants, the room had become a complete cacophony. The aide had finished washing and swaddling the first baby, a tiny little girl. She handed it to Jon, who felt his knees buckle with emotion as he took her. He bent, holding her out to Sansa.

"Gods." she said, with a small hiccup. "She's beautiful."

The child had a patch of white blonde hair, and opened her eyes to reveal clear blue beauties.

"She'll look like her aunt, I expect." he said, putting their daughter into Sansa's arms.

"Hello, my sweet little girl." Sansa cooed, kissing her face.

Then, their son. As opposite as his sister as could be. His hair dark, and eyes black, like Jon's.

"Serena." Sansa said, looking down at her daughter. "And him, Jon, what for him?"

"What about Bennard?" he offered, an old family name. "Ben for short?"

She thought for a moment, and then nodded, grinning.

The door open, and Aden and Kyria ran in. She climbed onto the bed, to look at their new siblings.

"Two?" Kyria asked, looking at her father. "We got two?"

"That happens, sometimes." he said. Aden peered over, at the tiny Serena.

"She's little." he whispered.

"Yes, she is very little." Sansa said. "You were once this little too, you know."

"I will keep them safe." he vowed, and Jon and Sansa exchanged smiles. Such bravery for a little boy of 7.

"It smells funny in here." Kyria sighed, settling beside her mother.

"Childbirthing is a messy business, I'm afraid." Sansa agreed.

"I'll never do it." Kyria vowed. Sansa laughed, and took Ben from Jon's hands, looking down at him in awe. "I'll be like aunty Arya, or aunty Dany." Kyria continued.

"If that's what you wish, my darling, so be it." Jon said, ruffling her dark curls. "But I can assure you, there's hardly a better feeling than having your own children."

She rolled her eyes.

"Papa, I'm 4." she said.

"Four going on 75." Sansa laughed, kissing Kyria's forehead.

"Okay, mummy needs to rest now." Jon said, ushering the pair out of the room. Sansa gave him a grateful look, as the high of meeting her children was fading and the post-labor exhaustion was setting in. She settled into the bed comfortably, after the midwife and nurses bound her up, and put the babies in their bassinets.

She fell asleep, so grateful for her life, her children, and Jon by her side.

* * *

After the birth of Ben and Serena, came another pregnancy, and then finally, her 6th baby. After the twins, another boy, named Rodrick, and finally, due to her incessant insisting and complaining ("I can't believe you can't be bothered to name at least one of the many children you're producing after your only sister"), the youngest was named Arya, after her aunt. Rodrick looked exactly like Aden, and became his little shadow, usually following him everywhere he went as soon as he could walk. And then, Little Arya, could easily be mistaken as a carbon copy of her mother, with the same ginger hair and blue eyes.

It seemed that the potion hadn't ruined her chances for conceiving, but somehow, improved them, as she couldn't stop having babies. And like Sansa had imagined, so many years before, she walked across the courtyard of Winterfell, her belly round with child, and her other children following her, shouting and playing.

Alys and Sansa had grown close, and Alys was finally pregnant as well. The sisters in law were hardly apart, usually looking after the brood of Stark children. Aden the leader, more like Robb everyday, Kyria the copious bookworm, Ben stubborn and sullen like his father, Serena as incredibly beautiful as any of them, with a soft and gentle countenance, Rodrick usually at Aden's heels, and Arya, with a fierce energy and rugged tomboyish quality.

If Winterfell's walls had eyes, it probably couldn't tell much difference to the Starks now, as it had looked so many years before, in the courtyard, the happy family running, playing, and living well within their home.

Jon and Sansa aged as well, Jon's hair going completely salt and pepper, his eyes getting wrinkles at their corners and on his forehead, which crumpled when he was deep in thought. Sansa, becoming slightly plumper, her hips wider and breasts fuller, but also happier. With all her family around her, was when she felt best, the safest.

All was well in Winterfell, as the children grew. Sansa and Jon were much reminded of their own childhood, and many times in the great hall or around the hearth at night, they were completely blissful.


	33. Chapter 33

_12 years later_

"Will she bring her dragons?" Rodrick asked Ben, his voice light and hopeful.

"No, stupid." Ben replied. A hand smacked the back of his head.

Kyria, 16, bent in front of Ben, looking at him carefully.

"Ben, you are the heir of this castle, and about to be the oldest boy." she said, her voice dangerous. She wore a dark blue dress, with a white sash. Her dark curls, so much like her fathers, spilled over the table where she bent down in front of him. "You need to be kind."

He rolled his eyes, in the typical 13 year old boy way. She mussed his hair, which he hadn't cut in a long while. Serena was beside him, working quietly on her schoolwork. She chewed on the end of her quill, reading carefully. Her white hair was pulled away from her face, in an intricate braid, which Aunt Alys helped her with each morning. Rodrick sat on the other side of the table, also with schoolwork in front of him. The Stark children, minus Aden, were diligently finishing their schoolwork early, in order to be caught up for the Queen's visit. Kyria had finished long before any of them, and ususally circulated, helping the others do their work quicker.

Arya sat at the end of the table, her red hair in twin braids. She was using a piece of twine to launch balled up pieces of paper into the fire. Kyria shot her a look, and Arya looked back down at her paper, groaning.

The door open, and they all looked up, hopeful for a distraction. Bran rolled in, his face heavily bearded, his eyes glowing with merriment.

"The banners have appeared on the horizon." he announced. "She's nearly here."

Everyone scrambled towards the door, out to the courtyard. Sansa stood waiting, beside Alys, and she waved her brood towards her, grinning.

She bent, straightening the dress of Arya, who'd managed to get it completely crumpled and stained since she'd put it on that morning.

Through the gates, Jon rode, Aden at his side. Aden had grown into a young man that resembled Robb so much, both Sansa and Jon had called him that accidently in anger at one point or another. He was extremely popular with the ladies, his ginger hair turning much more golden, his exotic Targaryen eyes so unusual in the North. He was tall, like Ned, and as deft with a sword as his father. Jon said something to Aden the others couldn't hear, and Aden leaned his head back, laughing merrily.

He swung down from the horse, joining his mother and siblings.

Jon dismounted as well, and gave Sansa a questioning look. She looked more nervous than he'd seen in a long time, and her hands couldn't keep still. He approached her, taking her arm.

"What is it?"

"Are you not recalling the last time we had a Queen visit Winterfell?" she asked. He grinned, and nodded.

"Nearly 27 years ago? Yes, this does bring up some odd nostalgia, I must admit." he looked at the lined up group of children. "But...so much has changed, Sansa. This is a different queen, and only one child is leaving."

He leaned forward, kissing her on the cheek softly. She gave him a brave smile, but still felt the nerves in her stomach tumbling. Not only was this bringing back some unpleasant memories, but she was also about to lose her first born. Not forever, of course, but Aden was finally moving to the Capital, to begin learning his tasks to become King. There, he would marry, and work side by side with Daenerys.

Aden walked over to his mother, looking down at her.

"You're worried." he said, his voice deep, now.

"Can you blame me?" she asked. "I'm about to lose my son."

"I wasn't aware I was being sent to my death." he said with a wry smile. "And like she's said...and I've said...over and over...you can come with. You can stay with us, mother."

"My home is here." she said softly. "As is yours. Don't ever forget that."

"I couldn't." he said. He took his hands in hers, and kissed them. She felt tears blossoming at the back of her eyes. "And anyways, I don't leave for another week. So please try and keep your tears to a minimum, for today."

She laughed, and sniffed.

The gates parted, and in rode Daenerys, followed by her court, all mostly on horseback. None of the younger children had met her in person yet, so they all watched her with wide eyes. She dismounted, and walked forward, hugging Sansa first, and then Jon. Finally, she reached for Aden.

"Are you excited?" she asked, arching a brow.

"Nervous." he said. "You remember Kyria?" he asked, and Kyria stepped forward, curtsying.

"I hear you're to be the first woman Maester." Daenerys said. "Fitting, I think, in times like these."

"That's the plan." Kyria said softly, blushing, her shyness taking over.

"And then my other siblings, Bennard and Serena, the twins, and then Rodrick, and finally, Arya."

They all bowed as they were introduced by their eldest brother.

"Are you hungry?" Aden asked. "We just hunted yesterday, and have a boar roasting for you."

"Wonderful." Queen Daenerys said. "I'd love to sit with you, and catch up with you." she looked pointedly at Jon and Sansa.

* * *

The week flew by faster than she wanted. Before she knew it, Aden was loading up his horse, for an early morning departure.

Sansa stood in the dim dawn mist, shivering in the furs she wore. Jon was by her side, holding her hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of it. Kyria lingered behind them, her eyes still bleary from sleep. The other siblings had said goodbye the night before, but the trio wanted to see him one last time before he left.

"This story isn't over." Jon said. "It's just the end of a chapter."

"It's a nice chapter." she said. She shut her eyes, thinking of her sweet Aden, assuring her to be brave, at age 6, beside her in the bed in Kings Landing. Protecting his little sister, and siblings later. Besting his father at a swordfight at 12. Standing in front of her, sword brandished, at 14, when Lord Karstark had become too mouthy with her. At 17, coming back from the village drunk, covered in makeup from the girls he'd been drinking with. And now, standing before her, tall and handsome and broad shouldered. His sword, Snowclaw, at his hip.

"You'll write?" she asked up at him.

"Of course." he said. "Every chance I get. And you'll visit?"

"By the end of season." she assured him. "When the frost sets in, we will head South."

"Be safe." Sansa whispered. "Listen to Dany, and Tyrion."

He arched a brow, but nodded a moment later.

Jon stepped forward, and threw his arms around his son. Aden closed his eyes, relishing the feel.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do." he said.

"That doesn't leave a lot of room for fun." Aden replied dryly. Jon smacked him on the shoulder.

"Perhaps the next time I see you, I'll be required to curtsy." Kyria said as she stepped forward, taking Aden's hands.

"You ever curtsy at me, I'll knock you in your pretty little head." he warned. "You write, if any men try any funny business."

"I think I can rely on papa for that, but if I require any dragons, I'll be sure to send a raven." she said. She smiled at him. "I love you, big brother."

"And I love you, little sister." he said.

Sansa was crying in earnest now, although trying to contain herself.

"If you ever change your mind, I'll be waiting in the Red Keep for you all." Aden said as he mounted the horse.

"And if you change your mind, we'll be here." Jon replied. Sansa turned, burying her face into Jon's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her.

Aden turned the horse away, and out the gates he rode.

Kyria took Jon's hand, and looked at her parents. She wanted to remember this moment, and was sure she would, for a long time to come.

* * *

THE END.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL FOLKS! There we have it. Thank you all so much, this community has been completely incredible, and by far the most wonderfully responsive and accepting of my various bullshittery. There MAY be a sequel, I'm thinking of writing one just for fun, following the lives of Jon and Sansa as older, and their older kids. No promises...but lets just say, I love having something to work on.  
> Especially thank you to my FAVORITE commenter, HoosierPotter. Never have I had someone comment on LITERALLY EVERY CHAPTER. You made this experience so fun, and honestly, it's thanks in part to you that the story took some of the turns I did. If you ever want to collaborate on a story, let me know! And thank you to EVERY OTHER beautiful and loyal reader. You're all incredible, I love this community as much as I love writing. Leave a final comment, if you wish, and keep an eye out for future bullshitting works. Much love <3


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